


Parade Upon Your Victory

by oriolevent



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Stiles, But they don't get in the way much, Dubious Morality, Fae & Fairies, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, OCs - Freeform, Peter-centric, Supernatural Elements, Texting, True Alpha Scott McCall, more tags to be added later
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-05-20 18:32:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 43,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6020578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oriolevent/pseuds/oriolevent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter never planned on going back to Beacon Hills. But when his nephew asks for help, how can he refuse? Turns out there are some interesting people in Derek's new pack...and one in particular that catches Peter's eye.</p><p>Where trouble leads, Peter will follow - or maybe it's the other way around. He can never keep it straight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please don't repost this elsewhere or use it for anything other than your personal enjoyment. Just riffing off some ideas I've been saving up and trying to hit a ton of my favourite fandom tropes. Hope you like it!

Peter liked Vancouver. He liked getting up early and joining the crowds on the way to work, buying steamed buns and walking by the water in the evening. 

It was crawling with supernaturals, of course, but try and find a port city that isn't. Something about them endured from the past, he supposed, and the most varied beings ended up there. Sometimes passing through, sometimes staying. He wasn't sure what category he fell into. 

It had been ten - no, eleven years since he left Beacon Hills behind. Eleven years last month, he realized. Not that the anniversary meant much to him. 

He had left the town after the fire that killed his family. Most of his family, that is — he had been out of the house taking his niece and nephew to pick up more food for the party their family was having. When they had returned home, the Hale house was up in flames, and the border of mountain ash kept them from running inside…or anyone else from running out.

But he didn’t like to think back to that time much at all. He had fought with Laura, after her eyes had turned red like her mother’s, and she had insisted on taking her brother Derek far away from the smouldering ruins. Peter had disagreed. And so, they had gone to New York, and he had gone…elsewhere. Everywhere.

It look a couple of years for Derek to reach out to him. Although the first email he had sent didn’t sound very hopeful that Peter would even read it. _"Wondering if you're alive"_ , it read simply. 

Peter had written back that unfortunately, he was, and soon the two were exchanging short, direct emails every now and again.

And so he learned about the changes in their lives as Derek narrated them. He was in Scotland when Derek told him about starting college, taking a degree in urban planning, of all things. He was in Miami when Derek announced he had graduated. And he was in Chicago when Derek told him that he and Laura were moving back to Beacon Hills to reclaim their family territory.

There had been an unspoken invitation there that he hadn’t accepted. Though he would optimistically call his distant relationship with Derek a positive one, he hadn’t heard a thing from Laura in all the years they were apart. There was no bond between them, she was not his alpha. And so, he did not follow. 

Peter was working as a lawyer, he told Derek, which was mostly true. He had only just finished articling at a local firm in Beacon Hills when the fire had happened. Given the number of years he spent out of the field while he wandered, it was too troublesome to find a firm interested in taking him on now. So he found other ways to make use of his skills.

He didn’t go back to Beacon Hills when Derek told him about all the local teens Laura had bitten, nor when one of them apparently presented as a True Alpha. He came close to returning when he found out Cora had appeared. But only close.

And so it went for many years.

When he grew bored of the grime of Chicago — sure, he had liked some things about that city, but business had been almost too good — he turned his gaze back westward. California wasn't tempting him, but the pacific coast was. He could allow himself that little flash of nostalgia. 

And so, he found himself in Vancouver. It was easy there, to keep up his work as a consultant. That was the title on his business cards, anyway.

And while he sat on a bench looking at the Fraser River, eating a paper-wrapped dinner, his mind strayed a little southward. He didn't waste much time wondering how his nephew's pack fared, bunch of children that they were. Although he realized they must all be grown now. He considered doing the math, but saw no point in it. 

Peter hadn’t gone back when Laura gave up the territory to Scott, either. Mostly because he couldn’t understand it. Derek said that she was getting married to a beta in Arizona, and they were going to start their own pack. It didn’t seem to bother his nephew all that much, so Peter tried to not let it bother him.

But he did know Scott, sort of. Knew of him, at least. There were many names that got bandied around in their emails, some of which Peter faintly recalled as classmates of Cora, back when he used to take her to and from school.

Derek had said that things were pretty quiet in his last email. That must have been a month ago, at least. Peter couldn't remember if he had written back. 

His musing was cut short as a chime came from his pocket. He pulled out his phone and looked at the message.

_Got one for you._

He crumpled up the paper wrapper when he was done eating and tossed it, rather precisely, into the waste bin on the side of the bench. 

His office, if you could call it that, was downtown and was shared with two others, a witch and a banshee. It wasn't strictly zoned commercial.  But when he had come to the city following contacts that promised him some clients, he had met up with the women and tentatively hit it off. He had been surprised to find the banshee, though. He had been under the impression that they were rather few and far between. 

"Call came just after you left," the banshee, Viola, told him as he strolled in off the street. She was sitting on the couch by the entrance used by clients, texting on her phone. They had private offices, but she liked to wander. "Omega, down in Richmond. I filled in the case file for you because I'm excellent."

Peter smiled, all teeth, and proffered the muffin and coffee he had brought her. "I expected nothing less."

She snorted but took the offered goods and waved him on his way. On his desk he found a folder waiting and skimming the contents, and glanced at the clock on the wall. Early afternoon, enough ahead of rush hour traffic. He could make it. 

The omega was on the run from somewhere out east. Peter didn't care enough to find out where. Whoever had called was rather short on the specifics, but hadn't spared a detailed list of two families who had fallen to the omega's claws. He snapped a photo of the address listed with his phone and went to stand in front of a coat rack, debating over his choices.

When he was leaving the office, Viola had been joined by Niko. Peter had smelled her ozone scent wafting out of her office when she had opened the door to sit out front with the banshee. "Got your murder leathers on, I see," she said, watching Peter check for his keys before leaving. 

“And I see you're both hard at work," he sniffed, glancing at Niko's dirty boots resting on the arm of the couch. He chose not to comment. "You've transferred the payment to me, I presume?"

"Uh," Viola paused, and started tapping rapidly at her phone. "Yeah, now I have."

"Nothing if not efficient. I expect, of course, that since I'm doing the field work, you're both already handling the paperwork."

"Already on it," Niko said, not moving from the couch.

"And it will be sent out before the end of the work day," Peter added, not a question. He didn't expect to spend his whole evening on this.

Viola finally looked up from her phone. "Get out of here," she told him, little heat behind her words. 

Driving to Richmond, Peter rolled all the windows of his car down. He let the wind hit him briskly as he sped down the highway. It helped blur away the tension that had been building all day in his forehead. A mild annoyance, not enough to give him pause. But the cool air helped.

The address was easy enough to find and he parked down the street, strolling through the residential neighbourhood, calm as anything. It was a lovely autumn day, after all, and he made an effort to spend as much time outdoors as possible. 

Standing out front of the house, he sniffed the air and listened. One heartbeat inside. He stilled himself to listen further. None of the houses facing stirred at all. It was too early for anyone to be home from work, and he was lucky.

He went around the house to look for a back door, but there was a side one that led in through the garage, and that would be just as fine. He picked the lock quickly, quietly, and let himself in. A silencing charm Niko made was wrapped around his wrist, as always, but he was nothing if not deliberate in all movement.

The garage stank like trash and he wrinkled his nose in disgust. Honestly, how some people lived. It was repulsive. He could hear the heartbeat inside unchanged. The omega didn't know he was there, at least.

He strolled into the house without much ceremony, wary not to touch anything for how untidy the place seemed. The furniture was spare and cheap, giving the impression of a temporary tenant. He had only gotten a few steps through the hall when the other werewolf came bolting out from wherever he was spending his time. His panic, pungent, made it clear that Peter had the element of surprise. 

"What the hell?" the omega barked out. He had his claws out, Peter noticed. How untoward. 

"Alex Cornell?" he asked the omega. He saw the man's features twinge in recognition of the name. That was all he needed.

As he stepped forward, Cornell took a step back, letting his eyes flash blue in warning. Peter rolled his eyes, but his own flash ever so briefly. He hoped the omega would stop in his tracks.

He did, for a split second. It was enough.

A tidy half hour later Peter was strolling back to his car, texting the details of how he staged the scene to Viola. She would need to know the specifics for the alibis. _Doubt anyone will find him tonight,_ the banshee texted him back. _Can't I finish it in the morning?_

 _Don't keep the nice people waiting,_ Peter replied. She would get it done.

As he was crossing the bridge back up to Vancouver, even the heavy traffic didn't bother Peter. The tension in his head was gone for now, and he was pleased. He even turned up the radio as he took the slow route home for the evening. 

He was glad it had been a werewolf that day. It had been a few weeks since one had come up. Most of their cases dealt with rogue magic users - this area seemed filled with them in particular - and Niko and Viola went together for those. The tedium of writing up the legal advisory papers that were sent out to the contractors after their 'field work' had been looming over him all morning, and it was nice to have a break.

Taking care of rogue supernaturals could be a dangerous job, if you attracted too much attention. He couldn’t imagine doing it if he had a pack to consider, he was certain. On his own, he could be efficient and covert. And there was something just so satisfying about ethically sanctioned murder.

 

\-----------

 

It was late spring when he received the email. He was in his home office, typing up an advisory for a young mother who Niko had assisted earlier that day. He was just about to paste in the standard 'how to come up with a good alibi' section when an email pinged into the corner of his screen.

It was from Scott McCall.

He didn't click on it right away, because he first wondered why Derek had given his personal email out — there was no mystery how Scott had come across it, of course. Had he inadvertently given some impression that he wished to be contacted? He should have been more careful, if so.

Nonetheless, he clicked on the email, despite the subject line: BH PACK REUNION.

___"Hey guys!_ _ _

___So, as we all know, it's been a long time since everyone's been back home at the same time. We've been talking about it and thought it would be fun if we organized some kind of reunion! Lots of space at the pack house for everyone. I know it's short notice, but we want it to happen weekend after next. RSVP!!!"_ _ _

Signed, the young True Alpha. Not that Scott actually wrote that. 

Peter frowned. He had never so much as spoken to the young alpha before, and like hell he was going all the way down to California on such short notice. Or at all. 

He hit reply, but changed the address from Scott to Derek. " _ _ _Was I supposed to receive this?"_ __ he wrote, sending it off without a signature. 

It had to be a mistake, for he couldn't fathom a reason Scott would purposely invite him to his territory. They weren’t pack. Peter assumed his avoidance of Beacon Hills clearly communicated that he made no claims on the territory himself.

And what would he do, showing up out of the blue? Sure, he considered his relationship with Derek stable — distant, but stable. The rest were as good as strangers. Why they would include him in a reunion, of all things, was beyond him.

Out of curiosity, though, he opened up Scott's email again, and glanced at the addressees. Beside himself, there were three recipients: Lydia, Stiles, Jackson. A short list, and he knew those names from Derek’s emails. More were copied on on the message. He supposed those were the ones that stayed behind.

Lydia was a banshee, he remembered that. The other two were a human and a beta, less interesting. He would have to tell Viola that Lydia was not in California regularly. That meant the next nearest one was in Texas. This mattered to Viola, for some reason. Perhaps it was a solidarity thing.

An email came in from Derek. Rather quick, Peter thought, and opened it.

 ___"I asked him to include you. The pack knows, everyone is fine with you coming. I had hoped you would consider it, since it’s been so long. I’d like to see you.”_ __ Peter was almost touched by the notion. He had never felt guilty about his familial avoidance, and didn’t now. Still, it could be interesting to see how his nephew had grown up. But Derek went on. _ __“And don't let on I told you, but we've got a bit of a situation here, we need everyone home. I think we could use your help. I know you don’t want to come back here, but I wouldn’t ask unless I meant it.”__ _

Ah, there it was. He wrote back. " _ _ _Calling in the big guns, are we? My, I'm honoured to be included."_ __ He stared at the blinking line for a moment before erasing that last line. _ __“Is it that bad?"__ _

___"Might be,"___ Derek replied a minute later. 

Peter sighed. He opened his calendar and glanced at it, before closing the laptop entirely and leaning back to think.

He had, very loosely, been toying with the idea of inviting Derek to come visit him at some point. Cora too, if she was around, but she had never contacted him, just like her sister. But going to Beacon Hills himself was a whole other matter. It was preposterous. He couldn't just leave his work. Although he knew Viola and Niko wouldn't bat an eye at his time off; they never did. He had disappeared for a week the year before with only a text message worth of warning, taking a very nice romantic holiday with a very nice man who he ended up leaving in Punta Cana. It had been fun, though. He wondered if the man ever made it back. 

But he couldn't go back to Beacon Hills.

But Derek said he was welcome. And he needed his help.

But it wasn’t his pack. It wasn’t his problem.

In the end it was morbid curiosity, pure and simple, that saw him booking himself a flight. Perhaps he'll regret it, but worse case scenario, he could just drive to Los Angeles for the week. It was an excellent backup plan, it almost warranted being promoted to the primary plan. He wondered who he knew currently residing in LA. A few faces came to mind. Not unappealing ones.

He called Viola instead of texting her, for once. "What the hell, Hale?" she answered abruptly.

"Hello to you too," he said.

"You're...calling me. This is weird. You do realize I'm in foot rub heaven right now, right? This is probably a long distance call."

He rolled his eyes, not that she could see it. "Yes, I'm aware of your post-work rituals with Niko. If you don't plan on inviting me, you shouldn't rub it in my face."

"Not a chance I'm sharing this. Takes years of bribery and seduction. You never manage both at once."

"I'm hurt, truly. Just because I've never worked my charms on either of you does not mean I don't possess them."

"Yeah, I've heard enough through the grapevine. And I've also seen you drink wolfsbane tequila and lose all your cool. You know I have video. What do you want?"

"I'm going out of town in two weeks."

"Good for you."

Peter pinched the bridge of his nose. There was a little twinge of a headache. He could probably ignore it if she didn't vex him so. "I'm going to California."

"Shit, really?" He heard Niko squawk in the background of the call. He imagined Viola flailing at the news. It was a bit endearing, he could admit. "You finally gonna go stake your claim? Do you want backup? I'm not offering, I just want to hear how desperate you must be."

"It's just a visit," he insisted, but she took some time to convince. "My nephew says they need my help. If he thinks so then they're probably already over their heads."

"And it's your duty to go bail their asses out, is it?"

"It would be the neighborly thing to do."

Viola scoffed. "Yeah, you're real neighborly." 

Before she could continue there was some scuffling on the her end of the line, and Niko took over. "They know what you've been up to lately?"

"Not likely."

"You want some good stuff before you go? I can make something for ya."

Peter smiled. Ah, to have talented friends. "That would be lovely, thank you."

He let them get back to their private activities and opened his emails on his phone. He forwarded the flight booking information to Derek. _ _ _ __"Don't keep me waiting at the airport,"_ ____ he included in the message. 

 

____—————————_ _ _ _

 

To his credit, Derek did not keep him waiting. It was the other way around, as Peter's flight was somewhat delayed. By the time he saw his nephew waiting by the baggage claim he was nearly surprised to see that he was still there.

Given that he hadn't seen Derek in nearly a decade, it was surprisingly easy to spot him among the crowds. Mostly due to being a werewolf, of course. But Derek had aged like his father. Peter was almost shocked to see how similar he looked with light creases around his eyes. And he had a tentative smile on his face. Endearing.

"You actually came," Derek said by way of greeting. They stood looking at one another for a moment, not sure how to approach. A casual sniff of the air was enough, it seemed, for they turned and walked out of the airport. "I'll be honest, I really didn't think you'd turn up."

"Why nephew," Peter tutted, "what little faith. I would never ignore your pleas for assistance."

Derek did something difficult with his face, squinting, before giving up and shaking his head. His smile was almost fond. "You haven't changed that much," he decided. 

Peter put his suitcase gently into the trunk of Derek's car, noting what a sensible SUV it was. "But you have," he said as he sat in the passenger seat. "Look at how very mature you are. And the Hale genes haven't let you down in the least."

"Uh, thanks," Derek replied distractedly as he navigated out of the parking garage. "You look fine too."

Despite their emails it had been impossible to really know how his nephew fared after all these years. When he had last seen him, Derek was all leather and claws and bottled up fear. By comparison, he was completely mellow, and Peter was quite intrigued to find out how this had happened. 

They made polite conversation on the drive to Beacon Hills. Derek's work was fine, he said. He worked for the city, putting his degree to use, contributing to the greater good. Or at least that's how it sounded to Peter's ears. Derek was rather modest about it. 

Peter asked politely about the pack, and Derek gave him an uninteresting overview. Cora, he wanted to hear about, though, so when her name came up Peter was happy to probe for information. "She's good, she went to college. She's doing an internship for a magazine now. Couldn't tell you the title of it, though."

"What an attentive brother you are."

"She lives in LA," he shrugged. "I try not to crowd her.” It was amazing they weren't living in each others pockets, Peter thought, considering the shock it had been to Derek when he learned his younger sister was alive.

As they passed the sign that said 'Welcome to Beacon Hills' (which Peter had mixed feelings about seeing, if he was completely honest), Derek slowed down the car, throwing on the indicator. His uncle raised his eyebrows as they pulled off the road, parking on the side. Derek threw the hazard lights on.

"Listen," he started, and halted. He rubbed at his chin, a nervous gesture Peter remembered. "I just— you’re still pack, you know that right?”

“That’s very kind of you to say," Peter answered lightly. 

Derek didn't seem to buy it. "I mean it. I’m sure the others will feel the same way as soon as you get to know them. They’re a good pack,” he added. “I want you to like them."

Peter was rather touched by his nephew’s need for his approval. “If Laura thought they were stable enough to look after themselves, I am sure she was not wrong.”

“You still don’t talk to her?” Derek asked.

“Neither of us seem interested in that particular reconciliation,” he drawled out. But Derek looked sad so he moved the conversation onward. “I look forward to meeting your pack, Derek. I know they’re important to you.”

"Yeah." Derek to perk up a little before turning the car back onto the road. "A lot has changed since Laura left. Scott’s a great alpha now. And it will be nice having everyone home again.” Peter presumed he meant the others to whom the email invitation had been sent.

“You don’t have a problem with pack members moving away?” The Hale family had never strayed far from the den, so to speak.

Derek only shrugged. “Can’t stop them from having lives. And apparently they come back when we ask, so.” He trailed off, hurrying through a stoplight as it turned orange.

Peter watched him from the corner of his eye. He seemed agitated despite his apparent newfound tranquility. ”So what problem is the pack having that has you summoning me from abroad?" He watched Derek's hands grip the steering wheel.

"Can't we talk about it with everyone?” He glanced out the window, away from Peter. “That was the plan, after dinner." 

"Why don't you just tell me now." Not a request.

Derek seemed uneasy. "I'm probably not the right person to explain it," he sighed. "I don't understand everything. We just have a bit of a situation, and need every pack member present."

Peter said nothing. Eventually Derek felt compelled to continue. "There's some fairies."

"Fairies."

Derek glared into the rear view mirror. Peter wondered if he was keeping a lookout. “Listen, I’m really not the right one to explain it. I’m not directly involved, I don’t know what the situation is beyond some fairies moved into the preserve, and Scott needs the entire pack present to negotiate a treaty or something.”

Peter considered this information and prioritized his questions. “I thought you were Scott’s second.”

Derek shook his head. “Not for a few years. Isaac, I think I told you about him, he took over from me. Scott had a handle on things, he didn’t need me always around anymore.”

He looked remarkably fine with that development, Peter thought. That meant no Hale had a hand in running their ancestral territory. Well, at least Derek was still there at all. That was something. “And you’re fine being less involved in the pack affairs? Talia did used to say you were a born beta, after all,” he teased, testing the waters.

Derek only ducked his head with a little smile. “Yeah, I don’t mind. Honestly, I’m glad for it. I hope we’re able to spend some time together, now that you’ve finally come visit. Despite all the fairy business.”

“Aw, nephew, I’m touched. Truly,” he sniffed dramatically. Derek started to look embarrassed. “I would have come to see you years ago had I known what a tender heart you’ve become.”

“Yeah, well.” He focused on his driving, but seemed to chew on some words. “You’ve been doing fine for yourself, right? You’re doing okay?”

Peter knew vaguely what he referred to. Of course he still felt the loss of the fire, but he found his own ways to manage. It seemed like Derek did too — he must have been going to therapy. He would have to find out. “I’m better than okay,” he smiled, looking out the window. “I’m absolutely grand.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter meets the pack, and gets his claws dirty.

Scott McCall was waiting outside the pack house when they drove up. His arms were crossed but he looked anything but unhappy to see them arrive, even going so far as to shake Peter’s hand as he and Derek got out of the car. “I’m glad you came,” Scott said, his smile wide and confident. “It’s nice to finally meet you, though after Derek’s stories it feels like we’ve already met.” 

He was in his mid-twenties, and certainly had a presence about him. Peter had never met a True Alpha before and wondered how different it might be. But nothing seemed much different about him than any other alphas he had met before. “It was an honour to be invited,” he replied politely. Scott looked happy to hear this. Peter watched as the alpha put a hand on his nephew’s shoulder briefly, welcoming him home by the brief contact alone.

Derek took his bag for him into the house and Peter followed after. He could hear more pack members around than he could see. Those that were nearby glanced at him with mild interest. He wondered if he knew any of them, but had forgotten their faces as they grew up. “You’ll be in here,” Derek said, showing him to a spare bedroom.

The pack house was an eclectic Victorian looking place from the outside, though the interior was modern enough. It seemed to have several additions added to the original frame of the house. Set against the edge of the preserve, it was a bit of a distance from the old Hale house, and for that Peter was rather glad. That was something he could do without visiting, while he was here.

When they returned downstairs, the pack had assembled in the living room. Derek led them in and found a seat for himself. Peter stood near the doorway, not quite feeling awkward. It wasn’t a feeling he was familiar with, really. But he felt curious eyes turn on him, followed by a cloying scent — like death and lilacs. He saw a red-haired woman sitting with a teacup and saucer in hand across the room, watching him like a hawk. Banshee, his mind helpfully supplied. So that was Lydia.

Scott, ever the host, introduced everyone. It seemed one or two of the betas didn’t know Lydia and Jackson, who stood behind her chair, and Peter felt somewhat less out of the loop. He quickly forgot the names of some of the less interesting looking betas, though.

“And you all know Derek, obviously,” Scott gestured to him as he continued working his way around the room. “His partner Braeden,” he named the woman sitting nearby. Peter gave her a quick evaluating glance. He had heard from Derek that she wasn’t a wolf, but she looked completely at ease in the present company. He would have to see to that later. “Isaac, Jordan, Liam,” Scott continued to introduce them. “And for the new betas, this is Jackson and Lydia. And Derek’s uncle Peter,” he added. Peter appreciated being remembered. 

“Where’s Stiles?” One of the betas asked. Peter didn’t remember her name, but she was a hungry-looking blonde who kept flicking out and retracting her claws. Perhaps he should have paid more attention, he thought idly, but dismissed the notion. It seemed as though everyone was indeed present and accounted for save the human. 

“He said he’d be here eventually,” Scott shrugged. “You know how he is.” Apparently the betas were all familiar with him. “He was driving from New York instead of flying, might have gotten distracted along the way.”

A few snickers rose up. Peter didn’t get the joke. But no matter. He turned to return the glare that Lydia continued to provide in his direction. Eventually she broke eye contact, but it didn’t give him any sense of victory. Pity. He did so enjoy antagonizing banshees, and they always seemed to have enough of a problem with him to allow for it.

Even as the formality of the introductions gave way to general socialization, Peter couldn’t help but skulk along the edges of the room. He was the oldest there by a handful of years, but that gave him no pause. He flicked at the bracelet woven around his wrist that Niko gave him, and wondered how things were back home. He considered texting Viola, knowing she would write back instantly, but thought better of it. He’d rather have them contact him first. Petty, he knew, but at least he could admit it. 

The fact that the house had a dining room that could seat the entire pack was impressive. Even more impressive was the feast that rolled out when they began to be seated. “It’s a special occasion,” Scott insisted, passing a dish of vegetables to Isaac on his right side. Despite the empty seat on his left, they began to eat.

Peter had been seated beside Derek — tactical, he presumed, to put the non-pack wolf beside a family member — but he was delightfully across from Braeden. It only took a few minutes before he gave in to the temptation. “So,” he started, looking across at her, but Derek cut him off.

“Peter,” he warned, but it wasn’t a threat. It was a tone Peter hadn’t heard in, well, more years than he’d like to recall. Not since the embarrassing teenage years, when Derek’s angst was one of his chief entertainments. 

“I’m glad you made it out,” Braeden started instead. “Derek’s been looking forward to this. He and Laura told me a lot about you.”

“All good things, I hope,” Peter said with a wink. Derek groaned. 

“A lot of things,” Braeden repeated. “I hope we’re in for a pleasant visit while you’re here.”

Peter found he was rather unappreciative of the warning. He was a consummate guest. But it would be more strange, perhaps, if the pack was not weary of a stranger in their home. “That’s what I’m here for,” he said cheerfully, cutting into the rare steak on his plate. “I was promised a thrilling reunion with my estranged relatives. I expect nothing less.”

He glanced down the table at Scott, who had obviously heard. He was giving Derek a warm look while managing to continue eating. 

It was after dinner that Cora arrived. They could hear her car stereo blasting up the long driveway, and Peter went outside with Derek to greet her. 

“Look what the wolves dragged in,” Cora said, stepping out of her car. It was a convertible, hard top by the look of it. Very flashy, Peter approved. “Didn’t think you’d actually show up.”

“I would hate to disappoint,” Peter said, stepping forward. He wasn’t entirely sure how to greet her. He would wait to see what she did. “It’s good to see you again, Cora. It’s been too long.”

She looked him over, hand on her hip. Derek had scurried away to get her bag and a guitar from her backseat, disappearing inside quickly. Traitor. “I agree,” she said finally. “When Derek suggested inviting you I needed some convincing. He’s got a lot of faith in you. But he always looked up to you, anyways.”

Peter was almost moved. “I can’t imagine what I’ve done to deserve such loyalty,” he smiled. Cora didn’t seem phased.

“Yeah, well, won’t be a mystery long. He’s real into talking things out these days. It’s the fucking worst.” She breezed past into the house, and Peter trailed after. 

God, she reminded him of her mother. 

Though he was more than happy to downplay it, Peter was adamantly aware of the nostalgia bubbling up within him as he sat amongst the large pack, everyone happy to be together. He found himself sticking close to Cora despite their unfamiliarity with one another. She didn’t seem to mind, and was more than happy to pelt him with questions shamelessly. 

“You still up in Vancouver?”

“Yes.”

“Cold up there?”

“Hardly.”

“Got any family now?”

“Only my beloved nieces and nephew.”

She raised an eyebrow. For all the time they apparently didn’t spend together, she and Derek were so similar. “Cute. Dating anyone?”

“No. You?”

“No.”

Derek had apparently been eavesdropping. He turned around in his seat. “What? What happened to Claus?”

“Klaus,” she corrected. “I can hear you pronouncing with with a C. We broke up.”

“When?”

“This morning.”

Derek did another complicated expression. Peter found it exhausting to watch. “Do you want to talk about it?” he finally asked. 

“Hell no,” Cora replied. She had a beer in her hand, something the pack brewed themselves that could affect them, and swigged it back. “If you want to practice what you’ve learned in therapy, go write in your journal or something.”

“Knew it,” Peter said. Cora caught his eye and he thought she smiled behind her bottle. 

“Don’t pick on your brother,” Scott scolded, coming over to sit with them. He had been out with Isaac after dinner, running the perimeter, apparently. 

“But it’s _so_ easy, Scott, you have no idea,” she told him. Scott looked like he did, in fact, have some idea, but said nothing more of it. 

“Everything fine outside?” Peter asked him. 

“Huh? Oh, yeah,” Scott replied. He looked like he had been listening to something far off. Peter strained his ears, but whatever it had been was gone. “All quiet on the western front. All fronts, in fact.”

“You seem to have quite a handle on things here,” Peter said. He had not actually decided this yet, but wanted to see Scott’s reaction. 

“Thanks,” the alpha smiled. It was a bit tired. “It’s a team effort, really. I’m lucky.”

“Great, okay. I’m going to bed,” Cora interrupted, emptying her beer and standing up, clearly done with all the sentiment being thrown around. 

Peter watched her go with a half smile. Ah, what if she had been the relative to reach out rather than Derek? She would have been fun to talk to, he thought. But it seemed unlikely. She took after himself. Derek, the big ball of raw emotional nerves that he appeared to be, was most certainly his only ticket back into the Beacon Hills fray. A ticket that it seemed he had unwittingly accepted at some point.

Some of the betas trickled back to their homes as the evening progressed. Most of them lived on their own, Scott informed him when he asked. “But they come and go through here. Lots of room.”

“So I’ve heard,” Peter watched Derek and Braeden pick up empty bottles and soda cans, throwing them in a recycling bag. It was so very functional, he almost didn’t know what to do with it.

He hadn’t seen Lydia or Jackson since dinner. They had yet to say a word to one another, but he was certainly in no rush, and Scott told him they were staying with Lydia’s parents while they were in town. “They live in New Haven,” he told Peter unprompted, when it was just them and Isaac still in the living room. Isaac hadn’t said much, really. Peter hadn’t gotten much of a read on him. “Lydia’s doing a postdoc over at Yale, in — ah, something with physics.” He waved it off. “Don’t tell her I forgot. Last time she explained her research for an hour straight.”

“I’ll look forward to that, then,” Peter said, pulling his phone out of his pocket. No messages. He didn’t bother to check his emails, for there certainly were a few of those. “Though she didn’t seem particularly keen to chat.”

Scott’s forehead wrinkled as he seemed to realize this too. “Yeah, that’s strange. I wonder why? She’s normally kind of bossy, but she was quiet tonight.”

“She’s probably just wary of having a strange wolf around,” Isaac said, finally speaking up. “Smart, if you ask me.”

Peter looked at him expectantly. When he only met his gaze and didn’t continue, and Scott began to look uncomfortable, Peter took pity on them. “How long ago were you bitten?” he asked conversationally, choosing to ignore the bait.

“You can tell he wasn’t born?” Scott seemed surprised. 

Peter shrugged one shoulder. “Few of us are anymore.”

Scott hummed, thinking this over. “Wasn’t that long after I became an alpha, really,” he recalled. “Isaac was my first beta. First one I bit, I mean.”

“Is that so?” Peter asked, not missing the little flare of pride in the beta when Scott spoke. “How very interesting. Are you responsible for most of these ones,” he gestured upstairs, where some of the betas had gone to sleep, “or were they the result of Laura’s pack-building efforts?”

“Laura kept the pack small. She only bit me and Erica, I bit the rest of them. Consensually,” he added. 

“That’s good to hear.” But he wondered… “Did you not choose to receive the bite yourself?” He could hardly imagine Laura forcing that on the boy, unless he had severely underestimated the ways his niece had changed since their more civil days.

Scott sat back in the couch, rubbing his beard thoughtfully. “Not really. Well, it’s more complicated than that. Stiles and I were out in the woods at night — his dad’s the sheriff, and we heard some guy had broken out of holding and went missing. We thought we’d be heroes, or something, I don’t know why we did it. Anyway, we came across the guy, turns out he was an omega, and Laura was chasing him too. I got clawed,” he mimed the gesture across his abdomen, four long lines where the omega’s claws would have caught him, “and Laura felt sorry for me and bit me. Stiles figured out what happened afterwards, and we both joined the pack not long after.”

“I thought Stiles was a human?” Peter asked. 

“He is.” Scott instantly got defensive. “There’s nothing wrong with having human pack members. They help balance us out.”

Peter raised his hands, pleading innocent. “I’m well aware. Our pack had a few as well.” He only wondered how a human had quickly leapt to the conclusion that his friend had become a werewolf. In his experience, those outside the supernatural world tended to take a bit of convincing. Or else they simply turned an obstinately blind eye to it all.

At the mention of the old Hale pack, Scott seemed to back down quickly. It was only a few minutes before he said goodnight and made his way upstairs, Isaac following close after like a puppy.

Peter hardly minded being the last one up that night. He stood up and stretched, listening to the sounds of the unfamiliar house. The footfalls upstairs seemed quite loud, but soon tapered off as the wolves went to bed. 

He wandered over to the window, looking out at the forest. It wasn’t the view of his childhood, but it was the same wood. The same leylines ran underneath the ground. His skin prickled with anticipation at being so close to that familiar territory. He didn’t dare think of the word _home_. He was tired, after all, and retreated up to his bed. 

As he settled in to the borrowed room, he noted pleasantly that his tension headache had all but disappeared since arriving.

 

—————————

 

An alarm woke him up. It was blaring somewhere else in the house, some place he couldn’t pinpoint. It might have been an alarm clock, but there was something too shrill about it — and the footfalls of all the wolves in the house the moment it rang out indicated something else was at hand.

Peter slid from his bed and crept to the door, still in his pyjamas, and peeked out into the hall. In a flash Isaac ran by, not noticing him as he ran downstairs, and a moment later Derek tumbled out of his room, pulling a shirt over his head as he went. “What’s going on?” Peter asked.

“Wards were triggered,” his nephew said through a yawn, though stress was clear on his face. “Something’s heading for the house. It’s that problem I told you about,” he added, hoping he wouldn’t have to explain. “You coming? You’re not on duty or anything, Scott didn’t know if you wanted to be added to the rotation.”

Peter only raised an eyebrow in reply as he watched Derek stumble away in the same direction Isaac had gone. He glanced back into the dark bedroom, considering going back to bed and letting the others handle whatever it was. But the nervous energy of all the other wolves made his nose twitch and so he quickly changed into clothes he wouldn’t mind being seen in public wearing, pulled on his shoes, and followed after the others.

He was the last to leave the house but it was easy enough to catch up with the pack members that had gone to investigate. They moved quietly but with an efficient grace that impressed him. Scott raced in front with Isaac on his tail, and Derek, Erica and Jackson followed. Peter caught up to Jordan, one of the more approachable betas, and kept pace with him. “This happen a lot?” he asked, faux casual.

“Lately, yeah,” Jordan grimaced as they ran. “Someone tell you about the fairies? They opened a gate in the preserve — don’t ask me how it works — and send out battalions, trying to clear us out. Haven’t succeeded yet, though,” he added.

“Clearly.” When Derek had mentioned their creature-of-the-week Peter hadn’t really thought about it too hard. He supposed he would be able to lend some of his knowledge about the creatures to Scott, count that as his good deed for the year, and return home. But if the fairies were trying to seize the territory, it was a different matter entirely. 

There was a crash up ahead as Scott broke through the tree line to a clearing. Peter could smell something on the air — a quick hit of ozone, that must have been the wards as he crossed them — and then a smell like chalk and frost wafted forward. 

In all his encounters with the various inhabitants of the supernatural world, Peter had never actually fought with any fairies. Run into them occasionally, sure, but never when they were causing any trouble. They rarely occupied this world as it was, so past experiences were mostly just glances of a stray fairy moving from one plane to the next. But he had heard of the places on earth where they had established gates for their convenience, and wasn’t terribly keen to witness such a thing himself.

Scott stood firm as the others gathered alongside him, staring down the force across the clearing. There were seven or eight fae beings clearly before them, but a flickering in the dark forest further back threatened a greater number. Some of them looked almost human, but their movements were too fluid, as if they were floating underwater. Two were armoured with thorny plates and their swords burned with some unfamiliar element. And with them were three beasts, great hairy things almost as large as an alpha werewolf. Their fur was pulled back in loose braids, Peter noticed. How nice. 

“You’re trespassing on my territory,” Scott barked out to them. His voice was sure and filled with his alpha authority. “Turn around and go back where you came from, before we’re forced to take action.”

The fairies seemed to chitter among one another in some language none of the wolves recognized. They made no move to retreat. Peter saw Derek and Isaac shift their feet where they stood, widening their stances. It almost looked routine.

He wasn’t looking when the first fae launched itself at them. Scott had shifted instantly — not to full wolf, but Peter wondered if he was able to, as he moved himself from harm’s way. The alpha’s claws caught into the side of the attacking fairy and he hurled it aside. “We’ve tried talking it out before,” Jordan said to Peter, right before they all sprang into action. He presumed it had not gone well.

With the first impact all the strange creatures came at the wolves. They were a bit outnumbered, but Peter saw Jackson and Jordan take down one of the humanesque fairies together, and set themselves upon another right after. 

He was doing his best to skirt around the action, really and truly preferring to stay out of the brawl unless absolutely necessary. The hounds, whatever they were, were a nice touch, he thought. They must have known they were up against werewolves and formed this squadron accordingly. But Peter’s attention was drawn towards those that waited in the woods, a second wave of fairies, he was sure. The wind changed and blew their scent towards them, confirming it.

One of the hounds came flying towards him after Scott struck at it, and injured though it was, it growled up at Peter as it flung itself back onto its feet. He grimaced, flicking out his claws and tearing through the neck of the animal in a controlled movement before it had a chance to reorient itself. That was a fine enough contribution for this wave, he figured. If the second decided to attack after this one, they would need someone to at least be fresh for the fight.

The hounds were all down. Two of the floating fae remained, and the strange elementals. They seemed to be holding themselves back, watching the fight tactically. That, Peter did not like. He preferred his enemies to be stupid. It wasn’t a lot to ask for, really, and usually proved to be true. But then his stupid nephew had to have his back turned to one of them, and Peter saw the blade — pulsing like grey flames — come down across Derek’s shoulder. It knocked him forward, not severing his arm, but doing damage enough. Scott quickly dove to cover him and Peter felt his fangs and claws pop out and stepped forward to do the same. “Idiot,” he muttered, but was glad to see Derek still moving.

Only then did a great cracking sound in the forest catch their attention. Not enough to distract from the current onslaught, but out of the corner of his eye Peter saw something like lightning flashing through the trees, illuminating the fairies taking cover there. There were a great many shadows, and must have been at least a dozen of them in all. But they started to disappear, whether by the magic that seemed to be striking them or by retreat. Peter couldn’t tell, as he was rather busy assisting Scott in tearing off the head of one of the elementals.

“Three left,” Scott shouted to the others as Peter tossed the head off into the woods behind them. He didn’t know how these particular fae operated but it was always a good policy to separate them into as many pieces as possible. Never know when one is going to be rather persistent when it came to not dying.

The able betas surrounded the last two floating ones while he and Scott sized up the other elemental. The plan to reserve his own strength seemed to be abandoned, with Derek on the ground and Erica helping Isaac to limp over him in some manner of defence. He glanced over and saw half Jackson’s face torn up. A pity really, he was certain the pretty wolf would be furious about it. But he would heal.

Peter did not flinch, exactly, but certainly jolted when a swift but silent figure came dashing out of the dark woods ahead of them. He thought it was another fae until he saw a long katana slice straight through the floating one that was nearest. A woman wielded it, and the creature was down with the single precise stroke. Peter didn’t recognize her, but that didn’t mean much. Long black hair flipped around her as she bounced back with the recoil, and she wore dark shorts and a jacket. And…she looked like she was having a marvellous time. 

“Who’s that?” Jordan called out, waiting for anyone to answer. “Friendly?”

“I hope so,” Scott replied, falling into formation with the standing betas around the last of the fae. The girl hovered around them, her sword gripped in her hand. 

The elemental swung at them, casting its sword around in wide circles to open up the space. They were pushed back avoiding its blade, their ranks partially scattered. “Get your claws behind the plate armor,” the woman shouted to the wolves. “Just ignore the spikes, you’ll heal. They have weak points where the plates connect with their skin.”

“Ignore the spikes, she says,” Erica snipped. She was quick on her feet and had avoided much injury, but was starting to grow weary. “Can’t we just tear it’s head off like the other one?”

“You’re welcome to try,” the woman replied, raising her katana to deflect the elemental’s weapon as it came crashing down towards her. She scurried to the side, casting a quick glance back into the trees. Peter followed her gaze but the woods seemed dark and still again. “Anytime you’re ready,” she called out over her shoulder, annoyance apparent.

The betas tackled the remaining floating fae while Peter and Scott looked for openings on the elemental. It seemed undeterred by its fallen comrades, face hidden behind a dark helmet and its weapon still burning brightly. “Can you disarm it?” Scott called over to the woman on the creature’s other side. If the sword was down they could at least get close enough to the thing’s body to try and make contact. Peter wondered how Scott had managed to get the first one down as far as he had alone, but his nose told him the alpha was burned badly somewhere. He sniffed to get the scent out. 

“I’d rather not,” the woman called back, and Scott frowned. But before he could ask her why, a crashing noise came from the trees and someone stumbled out, shouting profanities. 

“Sorry, fuck, sorry!” The man had his shirt hiked up to wipe at the blood that covered his face, but it did little good, nearly drenched in the stuff as he was. Before they had time to react his presence Peter watched as his red-stained hands flew up, grasping at the thin air. Before them the elemental screeched, and they saw its plate armour wrench from its skin, flying away through the air and exposing the soft flesh beneath. A sudden flashback hit Peter, some old memory of a child opening a turtle’s shell to find out what was inside. He shook his head to clear it in time to see Scott launching forward, making impact with his claws at the same moment the woman’s sword stabbed through the elemental from the other side. They brought it down together.

When the elemental stopped groaning and sunk down into the trampled grass, the clearing was filled only with the sound of panting breath and retracting claws. 

“Stiles?”

Scott was running over to his friend, who had been the one lurking in the trees. The woman went over to them, and the betas just watched. Peter was less interested in their little reunion and more in Derek, who had retreated far enough to prop himself up against a tree, but his shoulder wasn’t healing — or if it was, it was far too slow to notice. “Come on,” he said, helping Derek to his feet and leading him back through the woods in the direction of the house. The others could deal with the mess.

It took a while to get back, especially supporting a wounded werewolf. He knew Derek wasn’t a child anymore but he was still heavy as hell and Peter was beginning to remember how tired he was when he had gone to bed only a few short hours ago. By the time they were in the house and Derek was strewn across a couch, the others wouldn’t be far behind. “Fucking hurts,” Derek spat out. Peter only blinked at his language, tearing away the remains of his shirt and tossing them somewhere behind him to allow a better look at the wound. 

“I won’t lie to you, nephew, this is rather gruesome,” he said quietly, examining without touching the ooze that seemed to be coming from the shoulder. He had never seen anything like it, and was torn between fascination at something new and concern for Derek. “You’re not healing.”

Derek whimpered. They heard the others staggering inside, and before Peter could even turn around Stiles was skidding up to the side of the couch, pushing him out of the way and kneeling to have a closer look at the injury. 

It seemed Derek’s nerves calmed a little as this happened. Only then did Peter really get a chance to see the pack human, as he had been too preoccupied in the forest. His eyes trailed across the wide shoulders, strong arms, and mop of brown hair pushed back out of his eyes as he leaned over Derek’s wound. Peter found this all quite interesting, but equally so was the wave of ozone and hazelnut scent that followed him in, dampened only a little by the smell of fairy blood. He watched as Stiles pushed up the sleeves of his shirt — it was a henley, like he had been raiding Derek’s closet — and saw mottled tattoos on his forearms. Very interesting indeed. 

“Give him some space,” Scott said, pushing Peter back out of the way. He let himself be moved once more, watching as Stiles caught the towel the alpha threw to him to staunch the blood that was dripping down Derek’s arm onto the couch and floor. This turned his attention back to the matter at hand. “What’s wrong? Why isn’t he healing?” 

The commotion had clearly brought down everyone who had been sleeping upstairs. It was unlikely that they had slept through the alarm, though, and had probably been waiting anxiously for the wolves to return. Braeden came running forward, silent as she rushed to Derek’s side. She glanced at Stiles in acknowledgement of his arrival before lifting the towel to glance at the wound. “You can fix this, right? Tell me you can fix it.” Her tone was strained, like someone who was used to being in total control of a situation, but found themselves out of their depth. 

“I’m thinking, I’m thinking.” Stiles pressed down on the wound with the towel, hovering for a minute before looking back into the room. “Kira, what was it? One of the Sluagh?”

The woman that had arrived with him came forward and crouched down to consult with him. “It was before I got there, but I didn’t see them with any weapons. Must have been the other one. Bit like a Dullahan, but haven’t seen one quite like it before. Head was attached.”

“Weapon?”

“Some otherworld thing.”

Stiles nodded firmly, as if he had feared as much. He snapped back to the wolves, all hovering and waiting for some sort of direction. “I need fairy blood,” he said, “quick.”

Isaac was up in a flash from the chair he had collapsed into. He instantly leaned into his leg that was clearly injured, but tried not to show it. “I can go back and get some from the corpses,” he offered, looking like he was ready to spring out the door with a single word. 

“Won’t be fast enough,” Stiles shot him down. Peter glanced at Derek, seeing his skin starting to get pale and clammy. His eyes weren’t open. A faint glow was coming from under Stiles’ palm as it held the towel down still. He seemed to notice the blood caked onto his own skin but it was too dried to be of use. “Is Lydia here?”

“Here.” She appeared out of nowhere, startling them. She didn’t bat an eye as she extended a hand out to whoever was nearest. “Claw,” she requested. 

Peter blinked in surprise, as he was the closest. He flicked out a clawed hand and Lydia grabbed it, raking it across her own arm without a second of hesitation. He was quick to wipe his claws off on the arm of the couch as she threw his hand away. It was already ruined from Derek’s blood, anyways. 

Lydia let her blood pool down her arm and fall into the open palm Stiles held up. When his hand could hold no more, he muttered something and the blood burst into flames, quickly burning down into a powder. Reaching over, Kira pulled away the towel and Stiles rubbed the powder right into the wound.

It only took a second before Derek’s eyes flew open and he was growling in pain. “It’s okay,” Braeden was hushing him, putting her hands on the sides of his face as she leaned over the couch. Derek didn’t seem terribly comforted, but refrained from biting anyone, at least.

In a few minutes they began to see the wound retreating from his skin, and they felt the collective sigh of relief. Stiles fell back on his heels, wiping his forehead. It only served to dirty his face further, though. 

“Ahem,” Lydia coughed at him, holding out her arm with its fresh wounds. 

“Oh, shit, sorry.” He hurried to wave a hand over the cuts. They sealed themselves, though it would take some time for all the redness to fade.

Lydia disappeared from the room and some of the betas followed her out, the action of the night clearly over. “Thanks, buddy,” Scott said, coming over to pull Stiles into a hug as he stood up. “Some welcome back, huh?”

“No, it’s nostalgic, you know? Very homey. Wouldn’t know where I was if someone wasn’t bleeding out around here.” They laughed, and Scott’s smile was blinding. 

Only then did Stiles seem to take stock of the room. Peter watched as he looked from Isaac, whose leg was healing, to Cora, who had slipped in and settled near Derek’s feet, watching intently as his shoulder closed itself up. When his gaze turned to Peter it seemed as if he was noticing him for the first time. “Well hello,” he turned, his entire demeanour changing as he slid up to his side. “You’re new, aren’t you? Scott, you were supposed to tell me if you ever bit any handsome older men. I’m so disappointed our communication has broken down to this degree.”

Scott audibly smacked his own face with his hands while Peter just smiled, allowing himself to be examined like a cut at a butcher’s shop. “Stiles, that’s Derek’s uncle Peter. I told you he was coming, dude, we discussed this.”

Stiles’ eyes widened a little, as if he suddenly did remember, but wasn’t put off in the least. “Ah, so the devil finally came down to Georgia. You’re not nearly as scary as Laura said, I’m a little disappointed.” Peter saw his eyes rake down over him, no subtlety at all.

“Did you want me to scare you?” He offered, and Stiles looked as if he was about to quip back when Scott threw an arm around his shoulder and dragged him away. 

“Okay, enough. Sorry, Peter, he gets kind of weird with all his magic adrenaline.” The alpha tried to push Stiles into a chair, but it wasn’t working. He hesitated to use any force, lest some of Stiles’ residual energy lash out at him. 

“He just needs to sleep it off, we were still awake over at his Dad’s house when the wards were triggered,” Kira said, coming to lean on Stiles’ shoulder so he would bend enough to let her wipe the blood off his face with her thumb. “Stiles, you haven’t introduced me to any of your pack,” she reminded him quietly, though everyone could hear her. Well, everyone but Derek. 

Stiles had the decency to look bashful. “Ugh, sorry. Right, Kira, that’s Braeden and Cora with Derek over there, and Isaac’s the one with the broken leg trying to crawl upstairs. And this is Scotty,” Stiles beamed at him, “my best friend and our noble alpha.”

Scott, for all his apparent nobility, had the dopiest smile on his face as she looked at him. “Well that’s obvious,” Kira told them. 

“Why—are you a wolf?” Scott’s expression took a confused turn. He seemed to be trying to scent the air subtly, but they could all see him do it. 

“Kitsune,” Kira corrected. “I meant I knew who you are, Stiles has photos of you all over his apartment.”

Peter had met a handful of kitsunes in Vancouver. They weren’t as easy to spot as wolves were. Much better at hiding their animal instincts, as they were more solitary and used to mingling among humans. 

Kira still held on to her katana, though it was sheathed. She barely managed to suppress a yawn. “Not that this isn’t fun, but are we staying the rest of the night here?” she asked Stiles. She didn’t look eager to go anywhere. 

“Oh, sure. I don’t want to go hunt for the car in the dark.” Stiles looked to Scott, who quickly insisted to Kira that they crash in one of the empty bedrooms. He offered to escort them himself, which was obviously unnecessary, since Stiles knew his way around. But it was too early in the morning to argue.

As he observed them, Peter wondered if Kira and Stiles were together. They seemed familiar enough with one another, but their gestures didn’t speak of romantic intimacy, at least. To be sure, he took a quick breath, checking for her scent on him. Nothing strong came through.

But as they left the living room, Stiles glanced back over his shoulder, eyes brighter than warranted for the hour of the night. Had he noticed Peter sniffing? 

“Oh god, don’t you be getting ideas,” Cora’s voice came from the couch behind him, once they were gone. 

He spun around to recall that his niece, nephew, and Braeden were all still very much present. Well, Derek was physically there. He seemed to have fallen asleep, his shoulder now clean and undamaged. “Whatever do you mean?” Peter asked, all innocence. 

Cora flicked some invisible lint off the sleeve of her housecoat, not bothering to meet his glance. “He was my classmate, you know. I’m the one who gets to play sad over a recent breakup. I’ve had rebound dibs on him for years and the planets have finally aligned.”

“Both of you should go back to bed,” Braeden interrupted them sternly before they could properly bicker. She was pulling a big reclining chair over near Derek and settled herself down in it with a blanket. “Cora’s insufferable when she’s tired, and I think it must run in the family.”

Bed did sound good after such a long night, Peter could admit. Deciding against goading his niece further he wished them all a good night and returned to his room. 

The chaos of the fight might have put a damper on someone else’s mood, but for Peter it was a rather typical occurrence, given his line of work. Well, it was rare to engage with such numbers, and to fight alongside a pack, but the bloody elements were familiar at least. Therefore he had very little problem forgetting all about the gorier moments in order to consider the interesting ones while he listened to the last of the shuffling footsteps around the house return to their own bed. 

He knew there had been more fairies in the forest. Nobody else had noticed, but he was confident in what he had seen. And he had no doubt that the flashes of light he saw were the product of the pack witch making quick work of the spectators. He wasn’t terribly keen to imagine what they would have done if Stiles hadn’t shown up when he did. The odds certainly weren’t in their favour, despite how strong the pack seemed to be.

Before falling asleep he rolled over to where his phone was plugged into the wall. Squinting in the bright light of the screen, he opened his conversation with Niko and send her a quick message. “ _Magic user, can use telekinesis, some healing, possibly elements. What does that tell you?_ ”

She would be able to give him an unbiased assessment of what sort of power laid hidden within the young man. Shutting the phone off and rolling over, Peter reconsidered what he planned to do to pass the time while in town. The idea of escaping to Los Angeles had never been further from his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who left such supportive comments after the first chapter! I'm really enjoying writing this and hope you liked this chapter too. I could write fight scenes all day. Some of my favourite things I included...older Scott with a beard, sassy Cora, marshmallow Derek. I should be making bingo cards or something!


	3. Chapter 3

It was quiet in the house when Peter went down to the kitchen in the morning. He had stayed in bed purposely to listen for most of the residents leaving for work, counting at least four cars drive away. He found only Cora sitting at the table, a laptop out in front of her. 

They exchanged pleasantries as he fixed breakfast for himself and sat with a cup of coffee a few seats down from her. “I thought you’d be sleeping in, on holiday and all,” he remarked. 

She kept typing away while she answered, and so he didn’t feel rude pulling out his phone, which had buzzed in his pocket when he sat down. “It’s not a real holiday,” Cora explained, “I just made up the excuse of a family emergency. They wouldn’t give an intern a holiday. I have to keep answering emails.”

Peter looked at the message on his phone. It was a reply from Niko, and he glanced back to remember what it was he had asked her. _All 3 is one person?_ she had written back. He wrote back that it was. “You like living in LA?” He asked Cora. 

Her typing stopped long enough for him to notice the glance she threw over the screen. “You know, you don’t have to force a conversation with me.”

His phone buzzed again. _How excessive. What kind of show were they putting on?_ More of a fight, really, he wrote back. “You can’t blame me for being at a bit of a loss for topics,” he defended, “but that doesn’t mean I’m not interested in talking to you, Cora.”

“Could have fooled me,” she said coldly, but seemed to reproach herself. She took her hands from the keyboard and thought for a moment. Peter ignored his phone when it buzzed. “I thought about this on the drive down here. About you coming back,” she said, when it seemed she had made up her mind. 

“I’m not back,” he interrupted, “just to be clear.”

“Laura told me about what happened with you two,” she pushed onward. “How you wanted to stay in Beacon Hills and get revenge for our family, but she just wanted to get away. Derek’s told you what happened to me?” He nodded. Cora had hidden in the woods and when she was found, she was presumed the only survivor. She had been in foster care until she reunited with her siblings, but her teenage years had been spent without any idea of her blood family’s existence. “I wasn’t old enough at the time,” she continued, “but if I had been, I would’ve agreed with you, Peter.”

He looked over his coffee cup at his niece, considering her stony expression. He hadn’t been wrong, there were many similarities between Cora and her brother, but there was a ruthlessness to her that he had to admit was familiar. “If that is the case,” Peter said slowly, “then I’m happy to inform you — and I trust you will keep this to yourself — that our family did not go unavenged for long.”

Her eyes lit up, and she was about to demand an explanation when they heard a car coming up the driveway, and the sound of someone else in the house coming towards the kitchen. Too many wolf ears, Peter thought, and hoped Cora understood the same. He swiped his phone open instead of continuing, seeing three messages from Niko. 

_Any good battle wounds?_

_Healing has to be inherent, unless you saw them use some kind of tool. Suggests some magic blood or ancestry. Moving shit and elements, I know there are some potions you can make that let you do that stuff for a limited time. Hard as hell to brew, I’ve never succeeded._

_I mean tried. I always succeed. Ignore that._

They could hear Erica talking to Stiles at the door, letting him into the house. Cora had gone back to her emails but typed with less fervor than before. Peter replayed the fight in the forest again in his mind as he listened inattentively to Stiles’ description of the drive across the country from New York. He couldn’t recall seeing much of the young man’s magic aside from the very visible results. He wrote back: So he’d have to be a fairly powerful witch to accomplish all that?

_Yeah, definitely,_ Niko wrote back quickly, as Stiles himself came into the dining room, greeting them and ruffling Cora’s hair, much to her vocal annoyance. _And I’d say nymph blood for the healing. Or maybe druid. I’d have to ask around tbh._

“Everyone doing okay after last night? I had to leave soon as the sun was up. Didn’t like leaving my jeep out on the side of the road unlocked.” Stiles took a seat at the table with them. Cora gave him a smile, making an obvious effort to be pleasant.

“Derek’s sleeping upstairs still,” she told him. Peter had checked on his nephew before he had come downstairs, and found him snoring as if nothing had happened to him. “Isaac’s leg was fine this morning so he went to work with Scott.”

Stiles nodded along as if this was to be expected. His posture was casual, almost forced casual, and he drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair beside him. Peter watched out of the corner of his eye, pretending to be distracted on his phone. He texted Niko back that she had been very helpful, but then idly opened his emails, flicking junk messages into deletion. “I’ve got to go reset the wards,” Stiles told them, not looking at either Hale in particular. “Think they’ve been tripped too many times now, aren’t as sensitive. Who’s been fixing them?”

Cora shrugged, she didn’t know. “Probably Boyd,” Stiles guessed, but it didn’t seem to matter. He stood up from the table, patting his pockets. They crinkled with a papery noise, and smelled strongly of herbs. “Alright, if I’m not back by the time Scotty’s home from work, tell him I’ll be back by dinner,” he said, making for the door again. Peter heard him pause. “You can come with me, if you want,” Stiles added. 

The silence stretched for a moment until Peter looked up and saw that Stiles had been talking to him. He had presumed the invitation was meant for Cora, and his niece looked adequately put out. “I’ll put on my shoes,” he replied, equally smug and curious. 

Outside he followed Stiles behind the house to a trail that Peter hadn’t noticed when running through the woods in the dark. Stiles was chattering on, telling him rather unremarkable facts about the property, what Scott had done to the house, things that had changed in the town over the past decade, as if these things might register as significant to Peter. He supposed these were reasonable assumptions. “When did you move to New York?” he asked, changing the subject. The town interested him far less than Stiles himself.

The young man seemed to understand perfectly. “I transferred colleges halfway through my degree, finished over at Princeton. I like the east coast. Sucks being so far, but work keeps me busy over there.” 

Peter watched as he idly pushed the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows again while he talked. His hands and arms were distracting, and he wanted to examine the symbols and figures tattooed there in exact detail. He had a pretty decent collection of magical texts back home — not that he could use them, but there was power in knowledge, and he liked to collect rare things. Given enough time he thought he could decipher what those tattoos meant. Of course, that would require the cooperation of the witch they were attached to, but Peter was actively weighing a number of schemes to secure just that.

“Your pack misses you, it seems,” he observed, finally looking away to survey at the woods around them, only just missing the guilty look that crossed Stiles’ face for a moment. 

“Yeah, it’s mutual,” he said, leading them off the trail and into the woods proper. It seemed like he knew where he was going, despite there being no evidence of anyone else taking this route before. After a while he asked, “What about you, up in Vancouver, right?”

“How did you know?” Peter ignored his phone’s buzz in his back pocket. 

Stiles was quiet as they seemed to reach whatever place he was searching for. The area was relatively clear and level, but the trees surrounding were dense and reached high into the sky. “Derek told me,” he replied, pulling the paper bag out of his pocket and taking out a handful of something before tossing the rest aside. “He’s real fond of you, you know. Scott told me it was adorable when he came to ask if you could come visit here. I’m pissed I missed it, honestly.”

Peter figured Stiles was beginning whatever ritual it was that restarted the wards around the pack house, seeing as he started kicking at the dirt as if searching for something. He fished out his phone and checked for the most recent message, trying to do so covertly. _By the way,_ Niko had written, _Did this magic-user see the charms I gave you? He’ll totally know they’re meant to hide something._

No sooner had he read the words did Peter feel the air around him shift slightly. He looked up to see a ring of mountain ash surrounding him, snapped closed with a gentle push of magic from Stiles. His posture had shifted entirely, going from casual to ready to strike in an instant. He hadn’t seemed this serious even when fighting the fairies.

“Ah,” Peter said, “I see.” He stuck out a foot to test that the circle was unbroken. Of course it was. 

Stiles was staring him down. So,” he started. Peter put his phone away and waited patiently. “You gonna tell me what your deal is, or are we going to have a problem?”

“I hardly know what you’re talking about,” Peter lied easily. He disliked the idea of using his own protocols from work on Stiles but found it was always better to let your target do most of the talking. Not that he thought of him as a target. Not in that way, at least. 

Stiles raised an eyebrow but didn’t seem to be fooled. “It’s a powerful charm,” he said anyways, “colour me impressed, really. It’s too good, though. Hides everything — your scent, heartbeat, the whole package. On the one hand, I really have to thank you,” he said, finally breaking his stance to run a frustrated hand through his hair. “I know the pack has been distracted with the fairies, but what have I always told them? One baddy doesn’t mean others aren’t going to show up at the same time. They’ll trust anyone these days.”

Peter had to admit that similar thoughts had crossed his mind about the pack. It wasn’t really his place to try and school his nephew into being more vigilant, but he felt rather grateful that Stiles would apparently do that for him. “So what do you intend to do with me?” he asked, risking a smirk. 

He saw Stiles’ eyes run down his body in a split second, as if considering his options. “I’ll give you a choice,” he said. “I could kill you now, and claim the fairies did it.”

Peter could almost laugh at the sentence but Stiles’ expression was deadly serious. He glanced down at the mountain ash caging him in, and saw he was low on options. “Not terribly appealing. Option B?”

“You take off the charm, show me what you’re hiding, and then I’ll decide whether or not to kill you.”

Peter sighed. “I’ll have to think about it,” he said, but began to untie the bracelet that Niko had tied on him before he left. It was only two simple knots but he took his time undoing them, just because he could. And because it bought him time to think. Unfortunately, he had nothing, save for a faint hope that a stray fairy might actually show up and kill Stiles. But he didn’t really fancy that idea, and besides, a fairy wouldn’t be likely to break the mountain ash for him. 

When the charm was untied, he let it fall to the ground, raising his hands in surrender. Stiles, for all his posturing, actually looked surprised. 

“Oh,” he said, “You’re an alpha.”

Peter wondered how he could tell, but figured it was yet another unexplained aspect of his magic. “Were you expecting something else? A glamour, perhaps? Some kind of demon disguised as an attractive young werewolf?”

“You’d be surprised,” Stiles grimaced, and Peter wondered what stories lay behind that expression. “And you’re not that young. Why were you hiding it?”

“But you do think I’m attractive,” Peter smiled, almost forgetting the mountain ash and taking a step forward. Almost. Stiles looked amused but waited for him to continue. “It seemed disadvantageous to attempt to reconnect with my family while posing a threat to my nephew’s pack. Really, how would it look, me turning up as an alpha to my ancestral territory, promising no harm? Scott seems reasonable enough, but no alpha wants that kind of challenge, I assure you.” 

Stiles wasn’t sure if he meant the ancestral claim or the challenge from Peter himself. He was relieved that this was all he had been hiding, though. He really didn’t want to kill Peter. “You could have just brought your pack,” he said, sure that Scott would have gone out of his way to accommodate them. “Sure would have helped diffused the tension.”

Peter slid his hands into his pockets, looking straight at Stiles. “Yes, well, as nice as that is, I don’t actually have a pack to bring, so I’m afraid that was out of the question.”

Stiles had been considering removing the mountain ash barrier. Now he was considering doubling it. “What the hell, are you serious?” he demanded, taking a step backwards. “How are you controlling yourself? For how long?”

“A few years,” Peter shrugged. He watched Stiles’ expression change from one of shock to concern to stony resolve, but at the last minute it changed again. Peter presumed he had been given a pardon from the death sentence, then, as Stiles began to look…interested.

“Years,” he repeated. He circled around Peter, as if examining a specimen in a bell jar. “But your control is perfect,” he remarked, seeing the wolf’s easy stance and telling him to show his hands, which were free from claws. “I’ve never heard of an alpha surviving without a pack before. Not for that long.”

“I’d love to tell you all about it, really, but you see,” Peter gestured down to the ash, “I’m not a great talker when I’m caged like an animal.” This wasn’t exactly true. He was a great conversationalist in almost all circumstances. It had gotten him into trouble more than once before. 

Stiles didn’t remove the barrier, though, but walked right over it into the circle himself. “I think you’re doing just fine,” he said, taking a step closer. Peter held his ground. “What I’d really like to hear is you assuring me that you mean no harm to my pack, that you’ll stay under control — and that you’ll answer all my questions.”

Though the charm didn’t bother Peter much, it did numb his senses ever so slightly — not enough to inhibit him, really, but with it removed he was that much more aware of Stiles. Standing so close, he was almost overwhelmed with his particular magic scent. He hadn’t truly caught it the night before. Must have been all the blood. It was almost enough to distract him out of replying. “And what does my cooperation get me?” he asked, stepping forward until they were almost touching. They were about the same height, he noticed absently. 

“I won’t be the one to tell Derek you lied to him,” Stiles offered, “and I won’t kill you. Isn’t that enough?”

Peter leaned forward, ghosting over Stiles' neck when he saw he didn’t flinch at his movement. He wouldn’t have entered into the ash circle if we wasn’t confident, but Peter was tempted to bite at him, if only to see what lay behind that confidence. Possibly for other reasons, too. “For now,” he murmured, and when he pulled back he was almost disappointed to see Stiles looked hardly flustered at all. 

“Excellent,” he beamed, and then he had the charm in his hand — when had he picked it up? — and had it tied onto Peter’s wrist again before he could protest. “I’ve got my own spell on this now,” Stiles explained, patting it before dropping his hand, “so one wrong move and you’ve got a surprised pack of werewolves suddenly ambushed by a strange alpha. Spoiler alert: they’re not gonna be psyched about it.”

“Duly noted,” Peter said, rubbing at his wrist. The charm was tied awfully tightly. “Anything else?”

Stiles had kicked the mountain ash line and broken it, and seemed to be channelling some of it back up into the paper bag he had brought. It was lined with rosemary and dill, no wonder Peter hadn’t smelled it earlier. “Yeah, one other thing,” he said, and stuffing the bag into his pocket, he suddenly turned on Peter, pulling him in by the back of the neck into a crushing kiss. 

Peter was startled but nothing if not receptive and pulled Stiles in by his hips, bringing them flush against one another. He kissed back hard, feeling Stiles give him control for a moment until he was pushed back by the other’s tongue entering his mouth. It was intoxicating, like taking a shot of pure magic - and that wasn't just a romantic metaphor, Stiles' power was nearly tangible where they connected. He had just started to nip at Stiles’ lower lip when the other pulled back abruptly, leaving Peter grasping at the air. “I’ve never been good at subtlety,” Stiles told him, grinning as if he had never been more pleased with himself, but moving away from Peter — the opposite direction he should have been going. “I like you, Peter, I’m glad I don’t have to kill you.” 

“I might have to kill _you_ ,” Peter groaned, and Stiles just laughed. He went over to the line of trees and seemed to actually be reinforcing the wards as he had originally intended. Peter glanced up helplessly at the sky before trailing after him, reluctant to leave despite the number of threats made to his life in the past ten minutes. 

 

——————————

 

It seemed that there were only two things that could distract Stiles’ libido, as Peter discovered: new and interesting information, and his friendship with Scott McCall. He had managed to corner Stiles a couple of times in the forest but each time the witch had come up with another question about his packlessness, or about some other supernatural creature he inadvertently revealed to have encountered, before Stiles said it was due time for Scott to be home from work and they had to return to the pack house. Peter was more than a little frustrated, but wouldn’t dare give Stiles the satisfaction of knowing it. 

He kept up his usual demeanor as they found most of the pack back at home, and Stiles disappeared to find Scott. In the kitchen Peter came across Cora, smiling back pleasantly to the icy glare she sent at him. He might have had a concealment charm on him, but she had clearly gotten a whiff of Peter on Stiles as the other had passed through looking for their alpha. He only poured himself a glass of wine from the open bottle someone had left on the counter and wandered off, taking out his phone to berate Niko for not telling him about the charm sooner, and then to thank her for it. 

He got a text back quickly, and went to sit on the porch outside while he read it. 

_I’m sorry? Am I supposed to apologize for inadvertently hooking you up with someone? I know you haven’t been laid in a while, cause you have that post-coital swagger. It’s disgusting and we miss seeing it._

Derek and Jordan were already sitting outside, and Peter listened idly to their conversation as he texted back. He only looked up when shouting from inside the house caught all their attention. 

“It’s fine,” Jordan assured them, pushing the porch swing he sat on with one foot on the ground. “It’s just Stiles giving Scott hell about the fairies. He came by the station this morning to grill me about them. Guess Scott hadn’t mentioned that they were attacking, just that they showed up in the preserve.”

“Why wouldn’t Scott tell Stiles everything?” Derek asked, looking concerned. He showed no signs of injury from the night before, but Peter could tell he was a bit low-key after what had happened. 

Jordan shrugged. “Beats me. From what he said it’s a whole different matter if the fairies initiate aggression. But there was no chance I could get a straight answer out of him beyond that.”

The conversation over dinner didn’t change subjects. Most of the pack and Peter ate quietly as they listened to Stiles and Scott argue, gesturing wildly with their cutlery. “I didn’t want you to worry,” Scott was defending, almost alpha-posturing even though Stiles would have ignored it. “You said you were busy with work and couldn’t come out for a few weeks, I knew if I told you everything you’d rush back here.”

“Scott, I love you, but you're so dumb sometimes,” Stiles rolled his eyes, tearing into his steak with frustrated vigour. “Work isn’t more important than pack. If they’ve attacked then we’re perfectly within our rights to destroy their gate and whatever forces they try and stop us with. We don’t have to mess around with the treaty bullshit anymore.”

Scott knew this, obvious from his resolve to fight rather than negotiate the night before. But that didn’t mean he liked it. “I don’t want to risk the pack’s safety any more than we have to,” he said. “Now that you’re here we can start formalizing the treaty, we don’t have to fight them anymore. Right? You said on Skype we could do it with sixteen people.”

This caught Peter’s attention. Some sort of spell needing that many people? It would be a powerful one, but nothing he had ever heard of before. “Was this why you called us all home?” Lydia demanded from her end of the table. She had been ignoring their squabbling for the most part, but seemed incensed at this. 

“No! Well, not the only reason,” Scott defended, but the banshee pursed her lips and stared down the table at him. “We really did want to have a reunion, and it’s nice, right?” 

Nobody answered, and Stiles winced at him. “Not the time, buddy,” he said, paving over their argument by drawing Kira into a discussion with Scott about Star Wars, and the alpha’s lack of seeing it. Kira seemed horrified, and it seemed safe for everyone else at the table to break away into their own conversations again. 

The pack hadn’t seemed keen on dispersing after dinner and as they all lounged in the living room together, Peter had no occasion to get much closer to Stiles than anyone else. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, but rather he was enjoying this little game they seemed to be playing. Shared glances when nobody else seemed to be looking, Peter smiling back with his fangs on display, Stiles rendered hopelessly distracted until someone asked him something and caught his attention again. It was very cat and mouse, Peter knew, but he didn’t think either of them was really the mouse. More like two predators, circling one another. 

His phone buzzed. _So the pack’s cool with you? No mutiny or anything?_

I don’t know if cool is the right word for it, he wrote back. I don’t think they all trust me, but I’ve been invited to visit the animals at Scott’s vet clinic, so I must be doing something right. 

_Why wouldn’t they trust you? You’re a stand-up guy._

_I couldn’t text that with a straight face, FYI._

They wouldn’t if they knew anything about me. Shall I tell them some stories from work, to test the waters? 

_You think they haven’t done some heinous shit in their own time? Just because you avoid any supe newsfeeds about the mean streets of California doesn’t mean that I do. Tons of shit goes down, of the murdery variety. But I’m sure they do their best._

Is that so? Peter wrote back. He glanced around the room at the pack, from Cora trying to teach Braeden how to play guitar, to Derek with his nose in a book, to Isaac and Boyd cheering on Erica and Stiles as they played a video game together. Yeah, ruthless murderers, every one of them, he chuckled to himself, before texting just that back to Niko. 

“What’s so funny?” Scott asked, as he was sitting nearby. He had been looking around aimlessly since Kira had gone to the kitchen to get them new drinks. “Who’s that you’re always texting, anyways?”

“Just a colleague from work,” he replied lightly, trying not to make the subject sound interesting, but Scott didn’t get the hint.

“Oh yeah? I don’t think Derek ever really told me what it is you do.”

“Legal consultant,” he said, turning his phone screen off and finally giving the other alpha his attention. “Lots of paperwork, you know how it is.”

“Right,” Scott nodded, though he did not in fact have any idea. “Sounds tough. You ever give any thought to coming back to Beacon Hills for good?”

Peter became aware of a number of eyes upon him all of a sudden, and saw Derek watching over the edge of his book. “I’m afraid small town life just wouldn’t agree with me anymore,” he answered, and saw his nephew’s eyes turn a little sad before looking away again. “Not nearly enough to keep me entertained.”

Scott laughed. “You sound like Stiles,” he said, glancing over to where Stiles was still gaming, not appearing to pay any attention to their conversation. “I don’t know if he’ll ever come back here permanently.”

“You’re breaking my heart here, Scotty,” Stiles called back to them without looking away from the screen. “You know you won’t get rid of me that easily. But it _is_ boring here. Kira, tell him how much more fun it is in New York.”

Kira had just come back into the room, and handed Scott an opened beer. “I don’t know,” she replied, sitting on the couch beside Scott. “There’s something nice about a small town. It’s so much quieter, and it’s easy to relax here.”

“Exactly!” Scott agreed, though he had never actually lived anywhere else to be able to testify to the fact. 

“Except for your little fairy problem, of course,” Peter reminded them, souring the mood of the room. “Which reminds me, will they be likely to bother me if I go out for a run?”

“Just stay inside the wards,” Stiles told him. Peter would have no trouble identifying them, now that he knew what to look and smell for. He stood up to leave, but at the same moment, so did Cora and Derek. 

“I’ll come with you,” they both chimed, glancing at each other at their accidental Shining impersonation. 

Peter sighed as they followed. He had been hoping for some solitude but supposed that this was inevitable. At least in the forest they could all express themselves in a more understandable and lupine manner. 

He only beta shifted when they were in the woods, keeping his eyes in check — not that the charm would let him go full alpha anyways, he’d have to break it first. He figured his niece and nephew had enough they wanted to discuss without bringing _that_ particular subject in. 

“Okay, spill,” Cora ran up on his right, Derek flanking him on the other side. They were sticking to a path at Derek’s recommendation, so the ground was easy to traverse and left them unfortunately able to talk. 

“What subject would you like me to speak on? Perhaps you want to know what Stiles and I got up to in the woods today? I’m more than happy to share the details, you know, but it seems a bit inappropriate—“

“Wait, what?” Derek asked, apparently oblivious to anything of the sort. “Are you serious?”

“Shut up, oh my god, no,” Cora snapped at them both. “I mean, we’ll talk about _that_ later. You said you avenged our family.” 

Peter glanced over at Derek. “I already told him,” Cora added.

“You’re not very good at keeping secrets when asked, are you?” Peter observed. 

“Why wouldn’t you tell me yourself?” Derek asked, the hurt coming through in his voice. 

Peter sighed. He miraculously hadn’t had a single headache since arriving in the town, but if anything were to bring one on, it was this conversation. “You know who started that fire,” he started, resolving to get this over with. 

“Kate Argent,” Derek said, not missing a beat. 

“Yes. You know, it wasn’t your fault, Derek.”

“I know,” he replied, and Peter was rather surprised that he seemed to be telling the truth. He had been expecting to tear an emotional bandage off and have to deal with Derek’s self-loathing, but this was a pleasant alternative, knowing how catatonic his nephew had been in the weeks following the event. He really needed to send a gift basket to his therapist. 

They came to a flat section of the trail and Peter slowed down to a walk. The other two did the same, though Cora seemed full of energy still. They were a week away from the full moon, but that didn’t seem to have anything to do with her agitation. “I did some investigation,” Peter continued. “The Argents left town right after, they were long gone. But they were careless with who they left behind. I took care of any loose ends in Beacon Hills before going to find them.”

“What kind of loose ends?” Derek asked. Cora glared at him, as if he was stupid. Derek’s mouth tightened as he seemed to force himself to accept the implications. 

“But you did find them?” Cora said.

“Eventually. I found the family save for Kate and her father, who were unfortunately the two in particular I was searching for. Don’t give me that look,” he warned Derek, who seemed ready to question his motives again. “Despite being human, Argents are rather difficult to kill. Chris Argent and his family were alive when I left them in Atlanta. They weren’t uncooperative when it came to providing leads on their other family members.”

It had been more complicated than that, in truth, but Peter saw no need for the details of the weeks he spent pursuing Chris, while being hunted in return. They eventually clashed and managed to reach terms with one another. But it hasn’t been simple, and he was glad his scars had disappeared so quickly.

“They must have gotten a tip off that I was looking for them. They stayed on the move for a long time, until they attempted some asinine version of a trap for me in France. Needless to say, it came to a messy end. But I did it.”

No matter what other people might say on the matter, Peter didn’t take that much pleasure in killing simply for killing’s sake. But when there was the right motive, and some justice behind the action — even if it was only according to his own morals — it was immeasurably satisfying. It wasn’t something he had learned from his feud with the Argents, and it wasn’t something that had died along with them. But he found ways to manage it, as with everything.

They were silent together for a moment as Cora and Derek digested the information. Peter was preparing for their onslaught of questions, but he was genuinely surprised when Cora turned and put her arms around him in a hug. “Thank you,” she said simply, and his surprise was doubled a second later when Derek joined in. He patted their backs as they let the sound of crickets be the only noise that filled the air, their family bond — different from pack, but not by much — strengthening silently. 

 

————————————

 

When they made it back to the pack house it was dark inside, for they spent longer than expected chasing rabbits and occasionally talking about things they had missed in each other’s lives. Peter couldn’t remember a time when he last felt so…comfortable. That in itself made him slightly more on edge, but he figured there would be no harm in allowing himself this for the moment. He would be going home in a few weeks at most. Best to savour this feeling here, where he had no reputation to worry about upholding. 

He picked up his phone where he had left it in his room, not wanting to worry about losing it when running. There were a few messages but one from Niko most recently. 

_Hey, sent me a pic of this loverboy of yours. I want to rate your decision making on a scale of whether I’d make the same call or not._

He didn’t write anything back, mostly because he had no such photo, until he remembered that Derek had been including him in a text chat where the others had been exchanging photos of their little reunion. He found one that Stiles was included in, cropped it, and sent it off without caption to Niko. Why he entertained her notions, he had no idea. But there was something mildly comforting about having someone on his side, even if that person was in another country altogether. 

As he glanced out of his bedroom’s window, standing on the lawn in the dark he saw Stiles himself. He wasn’t looking at the house but out towards the dark forest. Peter wondered how long he had been out there; they hadn’t noticed him when they came inside. As if he hadn’t been intrigued enough with the young man, now he had to start acting peculiar after dark. Like he knew such a thing was infinitely tempting to Peter’s curiosity. 

He crept downstairs and out into the yard, unsurprised that Stiles seemed to know he was approaching despite his deliberately silent footsteps. “I’m trying to concentrate, you creeper,” Stiles told him, not moving from where he stood. 

“Are you sure? Looks like you’re just standing here in the dark,” Peter said, coming to stand alongside him. 

Stiles pointed down to the ground, his eyes not moving from where they gazed unfocused out into the trees. “Leyline,” he said, as if that explained everything. It actually did, as Peter knew that leylines ran all over the preserve, culminating in the nemeton tree. He wasn’t surprised that Stiles was familiar with it, but wondered what he was trying to do, and asked him as much. “I’m looking for this stupid gate,” he explained. “This way’s a lot faster than running around looking for it, but it’s hard to focus when everyone is awake and interfering with my,” he trailed off, gesturing up towards his head like there was some sort of extra sense he was referring to. 

“I see,” Peter replied, deciding to keep his hands to himself though he had come with intentions of doing otherwise. Unfortunately it seemed that Stiles was actually doing something of importance. 

“Hey, tell me something,” Stiles said after they had passed a few minutes in silence. Peter was happy just to observe, though nothing actually appeared to be happening. “You avoided telling me exactly how it is you stay under control, without a pack.”

“I thought you were supposed to be concentrating?” Peter deflected.

Stiles shrugged a little, but then needed a moment to refocus himself after the movement. “I’ll concentrate better when I can stop wondering about it.”

Peter folded his arms, considering what to say. “Pack is an anchor to an alpha. Nothing else can really anchor one so well. But there are always substitutes. Though they don’t appeal to everyone, necessarily.”

“You said you get headaches,” Stiles recalled, for he had asked Peter if there were any physical repercussions of his singular lifestyle. “Is that from being an omega?”

“A lone alpha is no omega,” Peter scoffed. “I’m just a pack of one.” No matter what Niko or Viola liked to say to tease him, he had never accepted pack bonds with anyone else. Not even with them, and he despaired to concede that they were, in fact, the closest things he had to friends. “But, yes. It’s…stressful, on occasion.”

“And the reason that Lydia says you’re ‘shrouded in death’? Her words, not mine. Sounds like something out of Tolkien,” Stiles added. His stillness was rather unsettling, as Peter had gotten used to his kinetic existence, even in their short acquaintance. 

“You’re smart, Stiles, surely you can figure it out.” Peter had wondered what it was about him that the banshee seemed to dislike so much. Viola had never said anything about it, but perhaps it was more out of politeness than anything. It would be rather rude to comment on someone else's death-aura. He had always presumed his vocational activities would leave some sort of trace on him, even if he did wash away all the blood each time.

Stiles hummed, like he was thinking about it. He didn’t seem alarmed by the conclusions he drew. Peter wondered if it was because he was half-submerged in his apparent magical trance. Any normal person would presumably have a bit of a stronger reaction to an occupational serial killer. “You haven’t been off terrorizing the villagers, Jordan or my dad would have said something. The fairies last night did it for you, then?”

“Seems that way,” Peter acknowledged. Though he wouldn’t deny some of the relief he felt was from being near his family members again, were he to be asked. 

“That’s good.” 

Stiles went quiet again, his mind clearly elsewhere in the preserve. He wasn’t as much fun when he was being so serious, Peter thought, but he couldn’t deny that this side of Stiles interested him too. The pack seemed to rely on him to be the one to come up with the plans, to know how to deal with supernatural problems when they came up. Impractical, of course, seeing as Stiles lived across the country, but it was a role that Peter could relate to. Even back before the fire, his knowledge was one of his greatest assets to the pack. He had never been humble about it. 

“You know,” Stiles said, breaking the silence, “it’s not a real sustainable method of dealing with things. You can’t keep going like this forever.”

“Perhaps,” Peter admitted. “However, you’ve already accused me of doing the impossible by going this long without a pack. I don’t see why I shouldn’t continue to fail your expectations.”

Stiles laughed out loud. It clearly broke his concentration, as he glanced at Peter from the corner of his eye. “Yeah, you should head back inside. I’m gonna be here a while, and you’re kind of incredibly distracting.”

Peter smiled, but he did as he was told, leaving Stiles out in the night by himself. Even with the dangers lurking in the woods, it wasn’t likely to be anything he couldn’t handle. Even so, there was no need for him to know that Peter sat up in his window watching until late into the night when Stiles finally seemed to snap out of his trance and retreat into the house. Peter only fell asleep when he heard the door to Stiles’ room close behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A long-ish chapter for you! Hope you like it. Peter's secret comes to light and Stiles is frustrating. What a shocker.
> 
> I just heard that apparently there's a season of TW airing right now. I honestly haven't watched it in so many seasons. I'm totally out of the loop. But I don't think I'm that inclined to catch up, tbh. Surely I'm not the only fanfic reader/writer who doesn't keep up with canon.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s some smut in this one, but honestly I don’t know why you’d be reading this if that bothered you.

 

Peter’s phone was ringing. He was still asleep, but it was late in the morning. So maybe he indulged himself in the luxury of a late sleep sometimes — he was on holiday, after all, at least in a technical sense. But whoever was calling didn’t seem to care. 

He opened an eye just enough to find the answer button on the screen. “What.”

“Holy shit, Peter. Is that Stiles fucking Stilinski in that photo you sent?”

It took him a moment to recall what Niko was talking about. “Why are you calling me?”

“You weren’t answering any of my texts. Are you still asleep? Is Stiles there with you? Oh my god—“

He growled and cut her off. He didn’t mean anything by it, really, it was intended to be more of a groan as he sat up in his bed. But it was enough to stop Niko from rambling on. “He’s not here. You know him?”

“Is he the witch you’ve been texting me about? He’s not even a witch, he’s a fucking mage, it’s a totally different thing.”

Peter tuned one ear away from the phone conversation to listen for any sounds in the house. Even though it was quiet he was certain he wasn’t there alone, so he was careful with what he said on his end. His phone volume was set too low to carry far, at least. “How do you know about him?”

“Literally everyone knows? He’s based in New York, does pretty much the same thing we do but with a lot less concern for subtlety.” It sounded like she was typing on a computer with one hand. Peter hoped she was at work, given that it was a weekday, but it seemed unlikely. “Him and his crew over there are like vigilante ghostbusters, except, you know. More than ghosts. Hey, we’ve never taken out a ghost, have we? Would you know how?”

Peter rubbed at his temples. “I think that falls under Viola’s jurisdiction more than mine, don’t you? But if you wouldn’t mind trying to focus for a moment, tell me what else you know about him.”

“ _Him,_ huh? Can’t say his name out loud? You hooking up with Voldemort?”

He didn’t respond, letting the silence push her into continuing. “Okay, alright. I’m just yanking your chain, I know you’re staying in the local pound. Little puppy ears doubtlessly perked up and waiting to hear something they can use against you. Have you overthrown their alpha yet?” More growls from Peter. “Ugh, fine. I don’t know much about Stiles outside of his work. We’re both part of a magic forum though, and I’ve seen him posting there about some pretty top level shit. I had no idea he was part of a werewolf pack.”

“Somehow, I think they aren’t aware of his sidelines, either,” Peter said, trying to imagine the pack’s reaction. Scott and his pups didn’t seem the types to go looking for trouble, only to deal with it when it came to them. He didn’t quite work that way himself, and it sounded like Stiles didn’t, either. 

“Don’t fucking blow this now,” Niko went on. “I’m very invested in the soap opera that is your love life at this moment. You have to tell me everything that happens.”

“I think you’re getting a bit carried away with this,” Peter said, pulling on his clothes as he moved around the room. “But if you insist, so long as you extend the same courtesy.”

“What, you wanna know what kind of freakynasty stuff Vi and I get up to?”

“No, I’m already keenly aware of all that, thank you. I mean go do some research, send me what you find.” He knew some things he specifically wanted her to look into now, but would have to text her the details.

“Oh, right. You got it, boss.”

“Don’t call me that.”

She laughed. “What, afraid we might accidentally forge some pack bonds? What a nightmare. I imagine that would be such a hardship for you.”

“My pack is a very exclusive club,” he said, glancing out the window. There was a scorched line in the grass, leading into the woods. He would bet it marked the leyline Stiles had been tapping into. “So far only one person has passed the rigorous entry requirements.”

“You’re talking about yourself, I presume.”

He kept her on the line long enough to enquire about work and other less personal matters, but eventually sent her off promising to do some investigation for him right away.

The day passed slowly, Peter eventually resorting to taking out his laptop and catching up on case files that he had been ignoring on purpose. The pack members who were visiting or not working that day milled about the house without troubling him, Cora even sitting with her own laptop nearby to continue with the emails she had complained about the day before. But in the evening, when the others had come home, Scott began asking around if anyone had seen Stiles that day. 

“He hasn’t been here, not to see _me,_ anyways,” Cora snipped, not looking up from her work. Derek and Braeden were in the kitchen making dinner, and they could hear Erica somewhere in the house singing along loudly to a radio. “You’d be better off asking Peter.”

Scott looked over at him, rather surprised. “Oh man, has he been bothering you? I’m really sorry Peter, if he’s making you uncomfortable I can talk to him. He’s kind of a dick sometimes, but I promise doesn’t mean any harm, really.”

“Your concern is touching, but he’s nothing I can’t handle,” Peter replied, saving his files and shutting down his laptop, as the battery was almost dead. He saw Cora wrinkle her nose at him from the corner of his eye. “However, I haven’t seen him since last night.”

“Huh.” Scott looked around, as if some clue might appear. Instead, Kira did, walking in with a handful of chopped carrots she had stolen from the cutting board in the kitchen. She had driven back from the vet clinic with Scott, where apparently she had gone to see some of the baby animals he was looking after. 

“I’ll check where he is,” she offered, when Scott asked if she knew. She pulled out her phone and tapped the screen a few times. “His phone says he’s at his dad’s house,” she told him, tossing a carrot into her mouth. 

“You’ve hacked his phone?” Scott asked, rather impressed. 

Kira looked at him like he was one of the puppies they had been playing with earlier. “Um, no, it’s just Find my Friends, it’s on the app store. You don’t have an iPhone, so you probably can’t use it.” 

Scott looked a little embarrassed at his lack of knowledge about modern technology, but Kira assured him it was fine. “I should go check on him,” she said, and Scott was quick to offer her his car keys. “I don’t trust whatever he’s getting up to over there alone.”

“Take one of the pack with you,” Scott offered, “I’d come, but it’s my turn to run the perimeter, and I can’t get Isaac to cover for me again. He’s still mad about the last couple of times.”

Peter stood up, silently volunteering himself to the task. “I’ve been cooped up here all day,” he informed them when they tried to tell him not to trouble himself. “It’s no trouble at all, I assure you.”

Scott drove a Ford Escape, which was reliable and not at all surprising. Kira took a long time adjusting the seat while Peter fired off a couple of texts to Niko to thank her for the files she had sent him over the course of the day. “So,” Kira said, too polite to let the silence become awkward. “How have you been enjoying your trip so far?”

“It’s been entertaining,” he replied as they took the winding road away from the house and back towards the town. 

“Entertaining,” Kira echoed, her tone light. “Sort of a strange way to describe life-threatening supernatural attacks, don’t you think?”

“Oh, I don’t know, from what I understand it’s the sort of thing that’s right up your alley, too,” Peter smiled, watching her for a reaction. Her expression betrayed nothing, but she took the corners of the road sharply. He decided to goad further. “I’d say this is pretty tame compared to what you and Stiles get up to in New York.”

“Stiles didn’t think you knew about that,” she said, slowing as they came to a red light.

“Tell me,” Peter went on, “because honestly, I’m interested — how did you manage to clear out that group of were-bears that were menacing Greenwich Village? Was it just the two of you, or do you have a little group of vigilantes working together?” Niko had sent enough links to forum posts and supernatural blogs to piece together a pretty comprehensive picture of the threats they had faced, and it was almost as varied as his own track record. 

He had been surprised at how often Kira had been mentioned alongside Stiles. There was no way she had his penchant for showmanship, for Stiles had clearly gone about making a name for himself in the supernatural community while she kept a lower profile. But there were hardly any camera phone shots online of the one that didn’t include the other. If Peter hadn’t seen her fight alongside the pack already, he would have presumed she was being dragged unwillingly along to their little conflicts in New York. Her kindness made for a most convincing cover.

Kira just shrugged. “We’ve got some other friends, but it’s mostly just Stiles and me. But we’re hardly the only ones doing that sort of thing, it’s a huge city after all.” 

“But I hear you’re uncommonly good at what you do.” Not that he was jealous, or anything. 

She didn’t deny it. They pulled up to the Stilinski house not too long after, and by then Kira seemed happy to reminisce about past adventures. Peter had even contributed an anecdote or two himself, as she seemed to quickly pick up on their shared interests. Her motivations may have been infinitely more noble, but he began to understand why her partnership with Stiles worked.

Kira knocked on the front door of the house to no avail, but found it was unlocked and strolled inside. Peter scented the air as he walked in, but it only smelled of Stiles, his magic, and the other people whose scents he normally carried. 

“You in here?” Kira called out. 

“Upstairs!”

They found Stiles standing in his childhood bedroom, staring at a wall. It was laden with paper diagrams, pinned up hastily and clearly representing many hours of labour. “What’s all this?” Kira asked, pulling over the chair from the desk to sit. Peter lurked behind them, impressed by what he saw on the wall and trying to take it all in.

“That’s the location of the gate,” Stiles gestured over to one large paper that resembled a map, threads tacked across it to mark off the leylines of the preserve and landmarks hastily drawn in. But he was looking elsewhere, at a number of charts he seemed to be comparing. “This is our strategy for getting Scott’s treaty.”

“This is what you needed sixteen people for?” Peter asked. Stiles looked over as if he was suddenly surprised to see him there. Peter tried not to be too offended. 

The diagrams were of different chess configurations, sixteen game pieces per side. “Yeah, it’s a fae thing,” he explained vaguely. “In a formal parlay they’ll only consider an equal opposition, and they arrange themselves like a chess board.”

“Isn’t that sort of straightforward, then?” Kira asked. She was eyeing the empty coffee cups on the desk. 

“It was,” Stiles agreed, tearing down one of the diagrams and crumpling it up, tossing it somewhere behind him. “But then we had to have Mr. Secret Alpha here turn up, and throw off our configuration.”

“You’re an alpha too?” Kira turned to Peter. She didn’t seem nearly so alarmed about it as Stiles had at first. Peter figured she trusted Stiles’ judgement on the matter. 

“I’m trying not to advertise it at present.” He didn’t quite mind her knowing. She was in a similar position to him with the pack, anyway, only tangentially connected to them. 

It didn’t take long until Stiles had roped them into helping him plan. “Okay, so here I had Lydia and Jordan as the bishops — Scotty was king, obviously — and I was queen.”

“Why were you the queen?” Kira asked.

Stiles waved at the air as if the question was silly. “Because I’m the most useful one here and I don’t prescribe to gender stereotypes. But this was the plan before we came back to Beacon Hills. Now we can’t leave Peter as a pawn, it’s just plain insulting to his alpha-hood.”

There were some names on the sheet that Peter didn’t recognize, but he agreed the configuration wouldn’t make sense. “Is this all actually necessary?” He had never dealt with fairies in this manner before, that was true, but it still seemed a lot of effort just to remove them from the territory. He could think of much simpler ways to get it done, but the pack seemed determined to follow more democratic channels.

“Of course it is,” Stiles defended. “Fairies are basically pure magic, and magic is all about intention. If these roles aren’t assigned deliberately they’ll never take us seriously.” 

Their debate lasted a while. Erica, Jackson, Liam and Braeden had all been relegated to pawns, on this they agreed — they had yet to decide how to inform them of this without offending them, but priorities. Stiles explained who Danny was, a friend and peripheral pack member whose boyfriend was a werewolf; they’d agreed to round out their pack for the event. “Why not your dad and Melissa?” Kira had asked. 

“Yeah, no way am I getting them anywhere near a battlefield,” Stiles shook his head. “I couldn’t keep them from getting involved when we were younger, but dad’s heart is going to give out if we keep dragging him into this stuff.”

Derek and Boyd were both rooks, as they would apparently have to adhere to the formation at the little showdown, and they both at least _appeared_ intimidating enough to hold up the end of the lines. “Kira should be a knight,” Stiles said, and she agreed. 

“Then so should Cora,” Peter countered. 

No matter which way they sliced it, though, it seemed impossible to reconcile two alphas onto one side of the board. “This is why it’s driving me crazy,” Stiles groaned, about to crumple up the most recent attempt. 

“Have you considered fairy chess?” Peter asked suddenly.

Stiles raised an eyebrow, still glaring at the papers. “Isn’t that literally what we’re doing here?”

Though he hadn’t spent much time on the game since high school, Peter remembered a few deviations on the traditional chess configuration. “The term is unrelated to our current predicament. They’re deviant pieces, ones that behave uniquely or combine aspects of multiple other pieces. Empress, grasshopper, knightmare, there’s quite a lot of them.”

“You think the fairies would buy it?”

“I have no idea. Isn’t it your job to know?”

Stiles nodded in admission. “Okay, so say we tried it. What does that make you?”

Peter leaned over the grid they were working on, having abandoned the wall some time ago in favour of the desktop. With a pencil, he marked the empty square two ahead of the queen. “Anti-king,” he explained. “Can only capture friendly pieces, and has to be attacked each turn or you lose.”

Stiles’ forehead creased in thought. “Okay, metaphors aside, doesn’t that put you in front of everyone else? Right where, you know, all the danger is?”

“Your concern is flattering, but presuming the fairies accept the variation of the game, they won’t be attacking anyway.” It was a rather faint hope, but not outside the realm of possibility, he supposed. There wasn’t much he liked about the idea of getting in the middle of things, but he knew his reflexes were excellent. He could always grab a beta and throw them in front of him, if need be.

“That gives us seventeen,” Kira reminded them. “We need another person.”

It was easy to find another, however. Stiles sent off a quick text to Danny, telling him Ethan’s brother could come after all. “He didn’t want to be left out, but I told him there wasn’t a place for him earlier,” Stiles explained. 

He pinned the final layout over the other attempts on the wall, stepping back to examine their work. “If it works, I think I ought to buy lottery tickets,” he said.

Peter scoffed. “Of course it's going to work. My ideas are known for their excellence.”

Stiles gave him a sly grin, and was about to say something when he glanced over at Kira as if remembering she was in the room, and seemed to save the thought for later. “I appreciate your confidence. But now we have to figure this out,” he moved down the wall to the next project tacked up there. There were pages of notes in another language, formatted something like a recipe. “I need this stuff to make an offering to them.” 

“Why would we do that?” Kira wrinkled her nose. “They almost killed Derek, but we’re giving them presents?”

“Just because these particular fairies have no respect for personal space doesn’t mean I’m willing to disrespect their customs entirely,” Stiles said, tearing down what looked like a shopping list and stuffing it in his pocket. “And those were just grunts last time, we want to lure out the king and queen. But I need to pick up something from a magic store, the nearest one is a couple towns over.”

Kira stood up from her chair and stretched. “Good, we’ll do that tomorrow. I’m beat.”

But Stiles shook his head. “Nope, gotta be tonight. We’re already less than a week till the full moon, and its stupidly traditional. But you can go back to the pack house,” he told Kira, all sincerity. “Peter and I can take my Jeep, she can handle the drive there and back.”

Peter had gotten a look at that Jeep in the driveway and was less than keen to go anywhere inside it. However, one must always weigh the pros and cons, and he saw the pros beginning to stack rather heavily. Several hours alone with Stiles was not unappealing in the least.

 

\-----------------------

 

It was almost ten at night when Kira left and they hit the road to find this magic shop. “I need another coffee,” Stiles yawned, but his stomach gurgled loudly. 

“Apparently you need something to eat even more,” Peter observed, and saw a diner up ahead. “Pull in over there.”

Stiles did, and parked the Jeep in the fluorescent pink and blue light of the diner sign. “You trying to take me on a date now?”

“Please,” Peter scoffed, holding the building door open for Stiles. “I would never take you on a date to a place like this.”

“Good to know.” Stiles slid into a booth and didn’t bother with a menu when the waitress came over. He ordered a mountain of food, plus a milkshake and a coffee to go. Peter just shook his head, and got a double espresso.

“Caffeine hardly affects me,” he explained, when Stiles gave him a skeptical look. 

“You just don’t want to eat anything they make here,” he teased, and from Peter’s non-response, he seemed to be right. 

The food arrived and Stiles wasted no time in ploughing through his order, like he hadn’t seen a meal in days. Peter saw the dark shadows under his eyes, and how pale he looked in the fluorescent light. “You’re expending a lot of energy on this fairy problem,” he observed, sipping mildly at his espresso. It was better than he had anticipated, but still not great. 

Stiles looked up from his milkshake. “Obviously. You think they’d manage this without me? I’m the brains of the operation. Scott’s the charismatic leader, and…well, everyone else is kind of the muscle. Literally everyone.”

Peter smiled, folding his arms against his chest and leaning back. “They’re lucky to have you.”

“I know. Jealous much? Trying to recruit me into your pack or something?”

“I didn’t realize that was an option.”

“It’s not.” 

Some teenagers across the diner laughed loudly as one of them spilled a drink all over themselves. Their waitress looked pissed off as she went over to deal with them, but they could hear her telling the teens it was no trouble in a bright voice. Stiles had gone back to drinking from his milkshake and Peter was beginning to think he had ordered it just because it came with a straw, and Stiles had to know what he was doing as he chased the straw with his tongue before sucking on it. Peter reminded himself this was supposedly a family establishment and being kicked out would put a damper on the evening. “So, Scott doesn’t know what you do in New York,” he tried instead.

“And Derek doesn’t know what you do in Vancouver,” Stiles countered. He moved to eating fries, and licked the salt off his fingers, which was arguably so much worse. “It seems like it’s in our mutual best interests to keep this stuff to ourselves.”

Peter agreed. “I’m surprised your reputation hasn’t followed you to the west coast. What was it they call you over there? The Firefoxes, wasn’t it?”

“Ugh,” Stiles looked honestly embarrassed. “That’s the worst. Yeah, I’ve heard that too. I’d ask you not to repeat it but I think that would just make you do it.”

He wasn’t exactly wrong. “I get it for Kira, being a kitsune,” Peter said, glancing into his espresso cup before deciding to give up on it entirely and pushed it away, “but what does that make you?”

“Must be from the elemental stuff,” Stiles figured. He had finished eating and the damned milkshake, thank god. “In the city it’s hard to use a lot of them, lightning is way too conspicuous, too many buildings to manipulate the earth. Fire’s an easy one. And, I guess there’s this,” he remembered, and glanced around the diner before lifting up the front of his shirt. 

Peter was staring at the abs that were surprisingly defined for his slender figure before he realized he was supposed to be looking at the tattoo that stretched across one side of his torso. It was a red fox, body extended like it was running, with wolfsbane flowers trampled under its feet. “Subtle,” Peter offered, and when he looked up Stiles was grinning.

“I told you I’m no good at subtlety,” he said, patting his side when his shirt was down again. “It’s my lucky charm. I mixed the ink compound myself, a friend of mine tattooed it for me. There’s a spell in it that keeps me from burning myself. Had a few mishaps before that,” he started to explain, but seemed to realize who he was talking to and suddenly trailed off.

“It certainly sounds like a useful enchantment,” Peter said, not quite able to keep the sadness out of his smile. He hadn’t meant to make Stiles panic over what he had said, but he didn’t have time to tell him as much before the waitress came over with the bill, and he stood up to go pay for them.

When they were back in the Jeep and the silence had lasted more than a minute, Stiles cracked. “Listen, I’m sorry about saying that — I wasn’t thinking about the fire,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck anxiously as they drove down the dark street towards the highway. 

“It’s fine, Stiles.”

Peter saw him glancing over like he didn’t believe it. “If you want to make it up to me, I can think of a few ways,” he offered innocently, and then Stiles cracked a smile.

“Let’s take care of this first,” he said, flicking on the radio to cover up the more unusual noises coming from the engine of the car. “It’s gonna be a bit of a drive.”

Peter had been to a fair number of magic shops in his time, of course. More often than not it was in the process of tracking someone down, as gossip seemed to travel through witch circles uncommonly fast, and they often proved a good source of information. Of course, that came with the downside of many of them not being particularly fond of werewolves or other less human beings, so he was understandably unexcited about whatever place Stiles was taking him to.

The shop was in a strip mall, most of the units dark save for a sports bar at one far end and a little place with a neon sign advertising palm reading in the window. “Uh, probably best if you let me do the talking,” Stiles said as they climbed out of the Jeep. Peter was happy to oblige but significantly less eager to go inside now. He supposed Stiles wouldn’t object if he asked to wait outside, but found he was rather unwilling to let the mage out of his sight. 

Stiles knocked on the glass door, and a man came out from the back of the shop to unlock it. He was a tall dark-haired fellow with clear eyes and seemed to know Stiles right away. Peter kept his mouth shut, as instructed, during their overly familiar greeting. 

“You should have called me if you were back in California,” the man said as they followed him inside. The front of the shop was set up like an occult gift shop with all sorts of tacky crystals and esoteric books. The good stuff would never be left out in the open, Peter knew, but he still refrained from touching anything. “We should go get drinks while you’re here, I can take a night off for once.”

“Can’t,” Stiles said, and Peter was moderately relieved to hear it. “I’m not staying long, just came to take care of some pack business. You know how it is.”

“Uh huh,” the man replied, leaning on the counter he had walked behind and looking over Stiles’ shoulder to Peter. “He’s one of yours?”

It was completely petty, and probably unnecessary, but Peter moved closer into Stiles’ space and put a hand on one of his hips in a blatantly possessive gesture. It didn’t seem to bother Stiles at all, though, as he leaned into it. “Yup. Peter, Eric,” he introduced them to one another, though neither man made any gesture to greet the other. “I need something for a spell, hoping you have it.”

Eric sighed. “I’m not so dumb as to think you’d turn up at midnight simply for a visit,” he said, and pulled out a pad of paper from under the desk. “What do you need?”

“Just one thing, actually. A bottle of papaver somniferum. Actually, kind of a lot,” he considered. “How much do you have?” 

Eric looked surprised, and crumpled up the paper he had started writing on. “Seriously? I don’t know, hang on.” He disappeared into the back of the shop, and Peter could hear his footsteps leading further away than should have been possible given the dimensions of the strip mall.

He was about to say something when Stiles turned to him, holding a finger over his mouth — it was kind of adorable, though Peter would never say so, especially since they were still so close together. Stiles pointed over above the back door to the frame, which was ornately decorated, but upon closer inspection Peter saw there were runes incorporated into the design. Some security precaution, he supposed, and if he was remembering correctly, it meant Eric would be able to hear them even from wherever he had gone to.

They didn’t wait long until the man came back. “Alright, this is all I’ve got.” He held up a bottle, the dark glass obscuring the contents, with a handwritten label on the side. 

Stiles seemed to think it would do, and pulled out his wallet. “Hope you know what you’re doing with this,” Eric said, taking the couple of hundred dollar bills Stiles procured without blinking an eye. “You mixed up in something?”

Peter didn’t like how he cast an accusatory eye in his direction. “Nothing unusual,” Stiles dismissed his concerns, and with a few placating assurances to be in contact again soon, they were out of the shop. 

“Do all of your friends keep such high security?” Peter asked when he thought they were a safe distance away from the door. Stiles had broken out of his hold when they turned to leave and he was trying to believe it didn’t bother him for some reason. 

“Nah, Eric’s just a bit of a perv,” he said as he unlocked the doors to the Jeep. “And he’s not a friend, we went out a few years ago, but it was never really a thing.”

“I see.” Peter was satisfied enough with that. “So did I just witness a drug deal? Really, Stiles, I didn’t take you for the type.” They started on the road back to Beacon Hills with tires screeching, Stiles driving a bit faster than probably necessary.

He grinned into the rear view mirror, pushing back his hair where he had earlier moved it forward. He’d clearly been laying on the charm for the sake of the transaction, even if Peter had ruined that particular tactic. “It’s only opium latex, I’m not gonna make heroin or anything,” he assured Peter. “Fairies like the stuff, I’m told. I’ve got to make an elixir with it and then deliver it wrapped in mistletoe.”

The language of flowers was one of the many pieces of information that Peter had inadvertently absorbed over the years, and though it was more of a druidic tradition, he knew mistletoe signified the desire for a nonviolent meeting. “How do you know that’s going to work?”

Stiles seemed confident enough about it. “I know a girl back in New York — actually she’s a changeling. Got back in touch with her fairy roots as an adult, she told me when I explained our problem to her. So, y’know, if it gets us killed at least my ghost will know who to haunt.”

“That’s reassuring,” Peter sighed. 

There were hardly any cars on the road, seeing as it was getting closer to one in the morning. Stiles was telling him stories about different supernatural creatures he had met, not all of them being violent encounters. “I honestly didn’t think vampires were real for the longest time,” he was saying as they finally drove past the sign welcoming them back past the Beacon Hills county line. 

“Why on earth would that be where you drew the line? You said you ran into a wendigo, they’re not that different, aside from semantics.” Peter had met a brood of vampires when he was in Europe hunting the Argents. They had been remarkably hospitable, nothing like what rumours would suggest. 

“I dunno, they just seemed too…hollywood,” Stiles reasoned, taking a turn down a dark road off the highway. 

“And werewolves aren’t,” Peter shook his head at the logic. “Wait. Where are we going?” He realized they weren’t close enough to the town to be taking a shortcut, if that was what this ominous road was. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Stiles said, which only served to make Peter incredibly suspicious. But when they were far enough from the road, he killed the engine and the lights and Peter suddenly found himself with a lap full of Stiles.

He was pulled into a kiss, uncoordinated due to the dark, but it only took a minute before they found their rhythm. Peter tugged at his shirt to get Stiles closer, hips trying to grind forward. The inside of the Jeep was an infuriatingly small space and it took no time at all for it to become choked up with the scent of Stiles, the hazelnut-ozone-arousal combination that had been taunting Peter for days now. It overwhelmed him, but not as much as Stiles’ hands, which seemed to be everywhere at once. 

“Such an — asshole,” Stiles managed when they had both run out of breath and Peter had started nipping down the side of his neck. “With your stupid — tight shirts, and — so fucking clever.” He trailed off into less coherent noises as Peter found his collarbone and started sucking at it, biting hard enough to mark but not to break the skin, out of courtesy. 

Stiles twisted and grasped at Peter’s waistband, trying to undo his jeans. When Peter realized what he was doing he shifted himself a little to make it easier. “You’re one to talk,” he huffed out, “Goddamned milkshake. Never drink one in public again.”

“I make no promises,” Stiles said, stealing one more kiss before maneuvering himself downwards despite the cramped space. Before Peter could suggest that they move to the back seat he was cut off by an eager tongue running up the length of his cock. He growled, almost instinctively, which only made Stiles look up with laughter in his eyes. “I’ve been wanting to test this immaculate control of yours,” he said, before swallowing down his length. 

Peter’s hips rocked helplessly forward as he tried to remember what the secret to that control actually was. He had never wolfed out during sex before — well, not without meaning to, at least — but this, well. This was a struggle. He had a hand tangled in Stiles hair until he realized his claws were itching to come out and he grabbed the window frame instead. It only made Stiles chuckle, the vibrations travelling through Peter, making him groan in return. 

In a gesture that was so quick it could have easily been missed, Stiles raised up a hand and Peter suddenly felt his arms unable to move, pinned where they were. He heard another zipper being undone before Stiles was jerking himself off, and now Peter growled for real. His muscles strained against the magical restraint, but yielded nothing. 

The windows were starting to steam up, it was far too hot inside. There were also too many clothes being worn, and Peter would have done something about it quickly were he able to — actually, he would have dragged Stiles out into the woods and pinned him to the forest floor, more likely. But as it was, Peter could only thrust erratically and try to remember to wonder, later on, why he was having such a hard time controlling himself in the moment. 

He almost howled when he came, only a stutter in his motions to warn Stiles. Almost being the key word; he wasn’t that far gone, but he might as well have been. Stiles had barely swallowed before he came himself, groaning with incomprehensible swears mixed in — Peter thought they might be in Polish. Whatever spell he had done to restrain Peter had broken the moment he lost concentration, and the werewolf wasted no time in hauling him back up and kissing him again. 

“That was a great decision,” Stiles sighed out when they broke apart. It sounded like he was congratulating himself. “Wasn’t totally sure how it would go. But honestly, A+, considering the circumstances.” He gestured to the car around them, before realizing his hand still had his own cum on it. “Ugh, um…” he barely had time to look around for something to clean off with before Peter started licking his hand clean.

“Is that a werewolf thing, or just a—? You know what, nevermind,” Stiles sighed, leaning his head down on Peter’s shoulder.“Oh yeah, sorry about the non-consensual bondage thing. I suddenly realized you might accidentally disembowel me, didn’t want to take the chance.”

“I would never disembowel you,” Peter said sincerely when he was finished, going back to licking at Stiles’ neck when he saw it exposed to him again. He could see the bruises he left along his collarbone already starting to show, even in the dark. He felt rather smug, and was considering adding another but Stiles moved to lower the window, letting the cool night air inside. 

Somewhere one of their phones buzzed. Peter figured it was probably Niko, he was ignoring her since he told her he was driving with Stiles, and she had sent him a long chain of texts with suggestions on what they could do to pass the time. Unsurprisingly, road head had been an option, and he wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of knowing about it. 

“You think there’s fairies out this far?” Stiles asked, though he didn’t sound worried. Peter stilled and listened; the woods around them were silent to his ears.

“Doubt it. The gate wasn’t near this end of town, according to your map, I don’t think they would stray so far.” Stiles was still on his side of the car, and since he had tucked himself away into his jeans again, Peter had his arms wrapped around Stiles and was breathing in his scent against his shoulder. He didn’t get the impression Stiles minded much. 

Eventually the night air had cleared their heads enough, and Stiles reluctantly slid back over into the driver’s seat, turning the Jeep on again. “I’m gonna crash with you at the house,” he said with a yawn, and Peter didn’t argue.

The drive back to the pack house was long enough that Peter could start to analyze what was going on here. It didn’t really take a genius to conclude that Stiles had somehow managed to pique every single one of his interests, and some he hadn’t known he even had, in a few short days. Peter had never been so uneager to get away from someone before. This was rather alarming, and warranted more thought than the length of the drive could allow, but in the mean time he couldn’t see the harm in seeing where this went. They would be back on their respective sides of the continent before long, anyways. 

That kind of escape clause would normally have given him relief, but for some reason, it did the opposite now.

As they pulled up the road in the preserve Peter felt a pang of dread when they saw the house fully lit, lights on all across the main floor. “Something’s happened,” Stiles said, mirroring his thoughts, and speeding up to stop the car at the front door. He was out and up the steps in a second, Peter not far behind. 

“There you are!” Scott came through to the entranceway as soon as they were inside. He didn’t seem panicked, but rather exhausted, as if all the panic had burned away already. “I was worried, you weren’t answering your phone.”

“Is anyone hurt?” Stiles demanded, pushing past him to get to the living room where the others were. Scott’s nose wrinkled as he went past, looking over at Peter with surprise. He didn’t say anything, just told him to follow them in.

Peter saw Derek and Cora both intact, and he was relieved. He would very much like to avoid seeing any of his relatives again in the state Derek had been after the last fairy attack, especially when Stiles was so far away. “Nothing too bad,” Kira was telling Stiles as he was already running a hand over a long scratch down her arm, healing it. “None of them had otherworld weapons, so there were just the normal injuries.”

“I shouldn’t have left,” Stiles mumbled, moving on to Braeden, who was clasping her wrist. They had evidently brought out even the human pack members, and that was concerning, even if they were able to hold their own in a fight. “I didn’t realize the attacks were coming this frequently, I thought we’d have more time.”

“It’s hardly your fault, Stiles,” Lydia told him from where she sat holding Jackson’s hand. She was in pyjamas and a sweatshirt, her hair in a long braid for sleeping. Stiles clearly noticed, for she would never go out like that willingly. “I sensed it before they hit the wards, we were able to surprise them.”

Stiles nodded, but he looked more tired than he had all night. “I’m gonna need your help with some chemistry tomorrow, Lyds,” he said, and Peter remembered that they had left several hundred dollars worth of opium back in the car. It would probably be fine till the morning.

“Of course,” she nodded, taking her leave with Jackson after a moment. The rest of the household gradually did the same, hauling their healing injuries back to bed. The living room had seen more than its fair share of werewolf blood recently. 

Peter saw Scott give Stiles a look before leaving, and went over to give him a one-shouldered hug, leaning in to say something quietly. Stiles must have muffled their conversation. Peter was no longer surprised at the little acts of magic he was capable of doing without any apparent effort. 

He went upstairs to his room and stripped down, grabbing his phone before crawling bone-tired into bed. Derek had texted him asking where they were, but it must have been after the fight, since there was no urgency to it. At least Kira had told them not to worry, since she knew they were out of town on the errand.

The door creaked when Stiles crept inside, not bothering to turn on any lights as he slumped onto the bed himself. “I want to sleep for a year,” he groaned, and Peter chuckled, putting his phone aside to charge.

“But then you’d miss all the fun,” he reminded him, pulling up the blanket so it covered Stiles too. “And I’d be terribly bored here without you.” But no snarky response came, as Stiles had already fallen fast asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All ships aside, I think Kira could be my favourite character in the show. Definitely favourite female, at least...Peter might take the top spot overall.
> 
> In the next chapter, the Hales have an outing together. I bet it's going to be really tranquil and non-confrontational, don't you think?
> 
> Also, I finally made a tumblr. [Check it out here](http://oriolevent.tumblr.com/) if you want! I'm still getting it figured out but come talk to me on it!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a fair bit of blood in this one, just a heads up. It's kind of gross maybe.

 

Nobody saw a trace of Stiles or Lydia the next day, and when Peter asked after them, he was only told repeatedly they were in “the workshop”, the idea of which seemed to strike fear into every werewolf that knew about it. It was somewhere in the basement of the house, but apparently futile to look for. 

“Stiles wards it to keep us out,” Jordan explained when they were in the kitchen. Peter sat at the kitchen island with his laptop while Erica was helping Jordan to make pizzas for lunch. “Only he and Lydia can get in, which is kind of inconvenient, seeing as neither of them live here anymore. But ever since Scott went in looking for a jar of something or other to barter with some travelling witches, but ended up spilling wolfsbane on himself, we’re not allowed in anymore.”

“Apparently all the spell ingredients ‘confuses our noses’ and ‘makes us stupid’,” Erica added, making air quotes. Peter could guess who had said it first.

It was Saturday, and most of the pack were at home. They hadn’t been too keen to go anywhere with the fairy problem being what it was, though Kira admitted she had been hoping to drive out to where her parents lived, about an hour north. As soon as she had said it Scott volunteered to drive out with her, and the others assured them they would be fine without the alpha around for a few hours. Derek had explained after to Peter that Scott hadn’t dated anyone in so long, the pack had started to fret about it. “He spends too much time on pack business,” he had said, “or working at the vet clinic. He hardly meets anyone new except through pack negotiations, and there he meets lots of women only interested since he’s an alpha.”

Peter could relate, though he had never particularly stuck around long enough with someone for them to determine his packless status. But the alpha thing tended to draw people in, in interest if not simply morbid curiosity. He had gotten good at hiding it long before this particular trip.

Cora wandered into the kitchen, rummaging in the cupboard over the coffee machine. “Are there no coffee beans left? Who used the last up?” She slammed the doors, checking the surrounding ones in case they had only been misplaced. 

“This isn’t even your house,” Peter said from over the paperwork he was reviewing, when neither Jordan nor Erica were able to help her. “Do people usually not mind when you go rifling through their cupboards?”

Cora turned to glare at him, but then had a better idea. “Come on, you’re buying me Starbucks,” she decided, grabbing her car keys off the counter from a pile of other sets. Hers had a large and ornate ‘C’ key chain that seemed to catch the light anywhere it went, blinding many a sensitive werewolf eye. 

“Why do I have to pay for you?” Peter asked with feigned annoyance, packing up his work. He was rather glad to have an excuse to get out of the house.

“Oh, I don’t know, you’ve got at least a decade’s worth of birthdays and Christmases to make up for. Derek!” She yelled out for her brother. “Hale bonding time! Let’s go!”

And that was how the three of them ended up sitting around the Beacon Hills Starbucks, expensive coffees in hand, staring at one another. 

Peter wasn’t shocked that they were at a loss as to what to say when they had nothing to do but pay attention to one another. He hadn’t exactly developed an adult relationship with his niece or nephew; they were still kids to him, even if Derek wasn’t leaps and bounds younger than him. But it was rare for Peter to try and force a conversation with someone he didn’t want something from, and so the silence dragged on longer than it should have. 

“Cora, how’s your internship going?” Derek tried, hiding behind his white chocolate mocha. 

“It’s fine,” she said, but when silence threatened again, she went on. “I do a lot of the social media stuff, and pull reader letters from the email for the editors…but they’ve let me write a couple of columns, I’m hoping to get a permanent one after the next issue.”

“That’s great,” Derek told her, his enthusiasm quite real. “You’ve been there long enough, about time they realize what a great writer you are.”

Cora seemed a little flustered at the compliment. She turned on Peter instead. “So, when’s the wedding?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, you know,” she grinned. Apparently she was much better at teasing than at taking compliments. “You and Stiles, rolling in late last night, stinking like each other. You guys stop by make-out point after a date at the soda shop?”

“I would appreciate if you didn’t insinuate I was born in the 1950s,” he drawled, drinking from his latte. “Are you jealous? I thought you were interested in him.”

Cora only laughed. “Please. If he’s actually into you then I dodged a bullet. I thought it over, and it’s much more fun this way.” She did look like she was enjoying herself immensely, holding court in their tiny ring of couches. The shop was mostly empty but one of the staff had turned on a radio, playing a ubiquitous pop tune Peter couldn’t name. “Derek,” Cora turned to him suddenly, “why don’t you tell us what you think about Peter’s new fling. I’m _confident_ you have an opinion to share.”

Peter sighed. He hadn’t been wrong when he thought that Cora reminded him a lot of his sister, but now he was starting to remember why that wasn’t such a fantastic thing. Talia had loved to tease him and apparently it was genetic. To Derek’s credit, he at least looked uncomfortable having this discussion. “I don’t think it’s a bad thing,” he admitted, “but you two live across the country from each other, I don’t know how you’ll make it work.”

“I’m sorry, did I sign some sort of binding contract when I wasn’t looking? Have I been traded for some goats and a bag of grain?” Peter turned his coffee cup around in his hands, the paper denting under his grip. “Because otherwise, I think you’re both getting too far ahead of yourselves. In something that doesn’t actually involve you, in case you forgot.”

That didn’t seem to phase Cora in the least. “Hale men get attached like leeches,” she said, waving her hand in dismissal of his words. “Derek’s exhibit A, and you’re shaping up as a fine exhibit B.”

“I could provide you with a long list of phone numbers who would enthusiastically testify otherwise,” Peter said dryly, “except I can’t, because I don’t save numbers.”

“What Cora means,” Derek glared at his sister, “is that Stiles is pack. Our pack. So we both care about his happiness.”

As if sensing an emotional turn on the wind, Cora rifled through her purse for five dollars and excused herself to go buy a treat from the counter. “I don’t know all that much about your personal life, Peter, but Stiles is a really nice guy — you know, underneath it all. You have to look hard, sometimes.” Derek looked like he was struggling. Peter let him. “Anyways, what I’m saying is, I think it’s fine. If you guys are a thing. If that’s what you want.”

Peter thought about a story Stiles had told him, of drowning a baby Ifrit in a pond in Central Park until it was nothing but wet ashes. Nice, indeed. “I appreciate the speech, Derek. I’ll take it under advisory.”

His nephew nodded solemnly. “You can talk to me about it anytime, if you need to. Just so you know.”

“Yes, I gathered as much. Thank you.” If he let this conversation go on any longer, Peter was sure Derek would start actively holding a therapy session right there in the Starbucks, and he was highly uninterested in starting to delve into the unprecedented feelings he had been having over the past few days. 

When Cora came back with her shortbread cookie they managed to talk about other things, though the conversation quickly drifted back to an overtone of awkwardness. Cora suggested they walk down to the bakery to bring something back for the rest of the pack, and they were all grateful for the objective to stop them from small talk.

Beacon Hills had become much more fashionable since Peter had last been there, with more chain stores and coffee shops on every corner. It was hardly a metropolis, but only faintly reminded him of the town he had grown up in. Even the law office where he had worked at in his last year of high school, where he had become interested in the profession, was gone, a clothing store having taken over the storefront. 

Peter volunteered to wait outside the bakery while the other two went inside to pick up a box of cupcakes — they had decided on that on the walk over — and he pulled out his phone. He had been texting Viola all morning, as she knew more about fairies than Niko, and Peter had been feeling on edge about their situation since the surprise attack the night before. 

Her last message read: _There was a coven in Louisiana that destroyed a fairy gate without trying anything else first, it was talked about a lot a few years ago cause I guess one of the coven members was related to the governor? But yeah, the fairies ended up killing em all. Now there’s just an open gate down there, don’t think anyone’s tried to reclaim the land around it since._

He had been in favour of such a plan in this case, and probably still was — he felt confident that the strength of the pack as a whole would be enough to wipe out whatever forces usually stood guard at the gate. But if Scott was still determined to try and parlay with the fairies, that would mean drawing out their leaders, and he was less confident in that particular fight. He had read enough books, he knew what kind of things fairy nobles were reported to be able to do, and he had seen Derek’s shoulder injury. The thought of the last one was enough to make him completely certain Scott’s plan would end badly.

And yet Stiles was determined to humour his alpha. Peter knew he wasn’t stupid, and if he was going through with McCall’s plan, the mage must have something up his sleeve to deal with the repercussions. But Peter had a nagging suspicion it would be something recklessly dangerous.

Before he could speculate on it any further, a scent caught his attention. It was different from the overwhelming sugar scent coming from the bakery, and was coming from a man walking quickly down the sidewalk on the other side of the street. Peter’s nose twitched. It smelled like a fairy.

Derek and Cora came outside not a moment too soon and he dragged them after him, explaining what he had smelled. “Must be using a glamour,” he figured, and they tailed the man down the main street until he turned off onto a boulevard. 

“What’s he doing in the town?” Cora hissed, as she wasn’t sure how good fae hearing was. “I thought we hadn’t found any outside of the preserve so far.”

“That’s what Scott said,” Derek confirmed. They were still keeping their distance, peering around the edge of a parked truck. The fairy was walking at a good pace, but seemed to be looking around a lot. “I think he’s scouting. Might be the first one that’s left the woods.” 

“Well, it would be rather negligent of us to let him go without saying hello,” Peter said, and a glance at his niece and nephew confirmed they were thinking exactly as he was. Well, probably not exactly, he admitted, but at least they agreed they shouldn’t let him go.

Peter remembered the neighbourhood they were entering. It was an older one and not much had changed here, at least. He knew there was a park with sports fields not too far away, in the direction they seemed to be heading. “Cora,” he said, while they continued their stealthy pursuit, “you remember the field where you used to have little league games?”

“Yeah,” she answered, but sounded baffled as to why he brought it up now. 

“We’re going to pass it soon. Give me that,” he took the cupcake box from her and promptly handed it off to Derek. “There’s a supply building near the road, even if there are people on the fields they shouldn’t be near it. Get ahead of us and get the door unlocked, be ready when we pass by.”

“Got it.” She disappeared into a backyard to take a shortcut, running out of sight quickly. 

“What’s the plan?” Derek asked as they picked up their pace a little. 

“If I look like I’m going to die, do something. Otherwise keep up, and don’t drop the cupcakes.” 

If there had been any doubt that the man was actually a fairy — and Peter trusted his own senses infallibly — it was dismissed when they cornered him as they approached the supply building and he turned with a distended jaw, flaunting rows of needle-like teeth. He went after Derek first, allowing Peter to catch him off guard with a blow to the stomach, disorienting the fairy enough for him to rush them both in through the door Cora was holding open. 

It was fairly empty inside the building, a riding lawn mower taking up one corner and some loose sports equipment scattered around, but otherwise it gave them plenty of space to deal with a suddenly very aggressive fairy. Cora leapt forward to take a few swipes at him, her claws making contact but not enough to cause any lethal damage as the fairy dodged out of the way. Peter let her try, though. Though imprecise, she was vicious. He felt a warm pride as he watched her take a chunk out of the fairy’s shoulder.

“Should we try and talk to him first?” Derek asked, coming up alongside Peter. His claws were out too, and it wasn’t exactly a look that screamed negotiation. But the fairy then sunk his horrible teeth into Cora’s forearm as she swung too wide, and the decision was made for them.

Derek leapt and pinned him down, throwing his weight into it. Cora flinched back at getting near those teeth again, her arm streaked with blood though the wounds seemed to be healing already. So Peter rounded the fairy’s head and with a clean stroke drove his claws into the neck. He died quickly.

“Derek, go get the car,” Peter instructed, and Cora was about to complain when he looked pointedly at her bloodstained arm, and she gave the keys to her brother. Derek hopped up off the ground and grabbed the box of cupcakes from the shelf he had tucked it on for safekeeping before leaving.

“Think he was alone?” Cora asked, rifling through her cross-body purse before coming up with a packet of wet wipes. She started doing her best to get the blood off her skin. Her shirt was dark, so at a glance it wouldn’t appear too suspicious.

Peter went to the door and sniffed outside. He wrinkled his nose. “No other fairies, but it does smell like marijuana.”

“Oh, yeah, there were some teenagers smoking out the side of the building when I got here,” she said, rolling her sleeves up past the elbows to somewhat disguise the teethmarks that had cut through the fabric. “I told them I was the cops, they went running pretty fast.”

Peter laughed brightly. While they waited for Derek they snooped around the storage room, eventually finding a roll of landscaping fabric that would have to do to wrap up the body of the fairy. They heard a car being reversed up to the door when they had finished, and Peter hauled the bundle over his shoulder. 

“Better not get any blood in my trunk,” Cora complained as they checked their surroundings before stowing the fairy away. It wasn’t exactly easy, given that it was such a compact car, but Peter managed it, though Derek had to go sit in the car instead of watching. “I’m going to make McCall scrub it, and Stiles isn’t allowed to clean it with magic. I insist on alpha detailing.”

Peter was glad to be of the same mind that this was somehow Scott’s fault, however, he had another plan. “If you could actually not mention this to anyone, I would appreciate it,” he told them as they drove back to the house. They looked at him like he was crazy. “I have an idea, just bear with it. I need Stiles’ help with it.”

Cora rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure you do. That’s not creepy at all.” But they agreed to say nothing of it for the time being. The house already had wafts of fairy blood floating through it from their previous encounters, so nobody would be suspicious when they walked in. 

Peter set about texting Viola until they pulled up to the pack house again. Cora parked the car as far from the house as she could, and put the keys in Peter’s hands as they walked up to the door. “You’re on cleaning duty in exchange,” she told him, “and if I find out you do anything weird with Stilinski in the backseat, I’ll be sending you and your dick back to Canada in separate boxes.”

Everyone was so excited to see the box of cupcakes that nobody gave a thought to what the Hales had been doing all afternoon. Scott and Kira arrived back not long after them, and eventually Stiles and Lydia emerged from the basement, smelling like herbs and smoke and flowers. “How’d it go?” Scott asked them, heating up leftovers from the pizza lunch they had missed. 

“Nostalgic,” Lydia replied, sitting at the kitchen counter with a bottle of water. She drained it fast. “Haven’t done a chemistry project with Stiles since high school. I forgot how disorganized it could be.”

“Organized chaos, Lydia, organized chaos,” Stiles insisted. He had gravitated over towards Peter but seemed to be energized from magic, and was easily drawn over to their conversation. Peter went to sit on the couch and wait patiently until everyone was fully debriefed on how the elixir had turned out. He never doubted that it would succeed, but apparently the others had been more apprehensive. 

Eventually, though, Stiles did find his way over to him again. He sat down on the couch beside him, and Peter was rather pleased to see he wasn’t keeping any distance. “So, what did I miss all day? No mutinies on the Bounty?”

“Sadly, no, I only spent a tedious afternoon trying to bond with my relatives. But eventually we found some common ground we could all enjoy.” Peter smiled pleasantly. Stiles looked suspicious.

“Okay, that sentence with that expression makes me nervous,” he said, starting to lean away from Peter, though it was clearly half-hearted as he was easily drawn back in as Peter put an arm around his shoulder. Cora groaned from across the room, but they paid her no mind. 

Peter leaned in close. “I have a present for you,” he said quietly, enjoying how Stiles’ eyes lit up in curiosity. 

“Is it more cupcakes? Because honestly, I only got half of one, and I think Erica ate most of the icing off before I even got that.” Stiles let himself be led out of the house without protest. 

At the back of Cora’s car, Peter opened the trunk, and revealed the crumpled fabric-covered corpse inside. “Wow, uh,” Stiles stared at it, then looked at Peter. “You got me a body? Honestly, dude, I know you’re a little fucked up, and don’t get me wrong, I’m into it a hundred ways to Sunday, but this is, um.”

Peter just rolled his eyes. “It’s a fairy. Derek, Cora, and I killed it in town this afternoon.”

That seemed to change things entirely. “Are you serious? Why was it in town? Wait, are you hurt?” Stiles seemed to race through thoughts faster than he could even express them. Peter found it charming.

“We’re fine. He was scouting. I thought you’d want to keep its blood on hand in case someone gets hurt again,” he explained, and Stiles was already peeling back the landscaping fabric to peer at the body. It was a little gruesome, but nothing extraordinary, if you didn’t mind visible trachea. 

“Totally, that’s a great idea,” he nodded, and seemed ready to unroll the corpse entirely until Peter nudged him away and closed the lid of the trunk. “What are you doing? No take backs, you said this was my present.” Stiles frowned at him.

“It is. You’ll get it back. But we need to talk first,” Peter said. Stiles looked a bit alarmed, but kept his mouth shut. “I don’t like the plan to deal with the fairies. There’s too much risk in fighting a whole fairy court, even if we have the entire pack. And you,” he added. 

“Well yeah, of course it’s dangerous,” Stiles said, “but I can handle it. You think I can’t?”

“I think it’s dangerous,” Peter repeated, using his phrasing. “And I don’t particularly fancy dying just yet.”

Stiles did not look happy. “I’ve run through a hundred variations on plans to deal with them. This is a good one. Don’t underestimate me, Peter, you don’t know the kind of shit I can do.” His eyes took on a dark, angry glint.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. However, I’m adding this variable to your strategies,” he put a hand on the lid of the trunk. “The fairy was scouting. I spoke with someone who knows a bit about fairies, if he was a scout then he was a major piece on that chessboard of yours.”

Stiles looked at the trunk, anger dissipating quickly. He seemed to be already thinking ahead. “So their side is unbalanced now.” 

“Yes, which makes me think the more unbalanced it becomes, the better.” Entering into a fair fight was hardly his style. Too many variables, too much dependence on things like honor and fair play. If he had gotten where he was today by playing by the rules, well — he simply wouldn’t have been there at all.

“Open the trunk,” Stiles demanded, and Peter conceded. He watched as Stiles tore through the fabric and started frisking the corpse, looking for something. “You’re right, but you don’t need me to tell you that, smug bastard. I hope you’re prepared for the consequences, if this guy really is a—“ He stopped as he seemed to find what he was looking for. 

It was a medallion, a ribbon tied through a hole on it though it was only kept in the fairy’s pocket. Stiles handled it gingerly, avoiding the metal touching his skin, wrapping it in a scrap of the landscaping fabric. “Okay, so this was a pretty good present,” he admitted, and pulled Peter over into a kiss. It didn’t last as long as he would like, but Stiles’ mind couldn’t shut down from working on the task at hand. “Um, let me think.” He ran a hand back through his hair, pacing around behind the car. “Blood first, before it congeals more than it already has. Get supplies, get the blood, go into the woods, summon the fairy king alone, take him down while nobody’s the wiser. Sound good?”

“Sounds like a date,” Peter agreed, and Stiles beamed. 

Viola had known about the chessboard system that Stiles had been using to strategize their attack, and was impressed by the mage’s planning when Peter explained it to her. She didn’t know as much about magic as Niko did, but being a banshee, she knew a thing or two about the fae. A scout would be a bishop or a rook, she had said, and if that was the case then they would have some magical device to communicate with the otherworld and their leader. She hadn’t know what it would be, however, but clearly Stiles knew what to look for. 

He hid the medallion in his jeans pocket as he led Peter back into the house. They avoided the others, instead taking the stairs down to the basement. Stiles ran a hand over a seal on the wall as they passed by, and Peter was immediately assaulted by a strong scent of magical ingredients, mixed with Stiles’ own magic signature. Erica had been right, it was disorienting. 

“Here,” Stiles procured a backpack from somewhere, and made Peter hold it as he loaded in supplies. Needles, vials, some suspiciously unlabelled bottles “just in case,” and a small flask of the fairy elixir he had brewed that day. “Just a sample,” he explained, zipping up the backpack, “to lure out our guest.”

When they went back upstairs, Peter ran to get his jacket from his room, and when he came back Scott had stopped Stiles by the door. “You can’t go out into the woods alone,” the alpha was telling him, arms folded in a posture of authority. It didn’t seem to be having the impact he wanted. “It’s getting dark out, it’s not safe.” 

“Don’t worry about it, Scotty,” Stiles told him, grabbing Peter’s hand when he came close. “We’re just gonna go make out away from wolfy ears. I’m doing you a kindness.”

Scott grimaced, but wasn’t totally convinced. “What’s in the backpack?” he asked, leaning over to see it. 

Stiles arched an eyebrow. “Do you _really_ want to know, dude?”

Scott seemed to go a bit pale. “Ugh, okay, fine. Never mind. Don’t get lost. Don’t — I don’t know, just, go.” He finished stuttering and turned back down the hall to the living room. 

Stiles grinned at Peter and they went back out to Cora’s car. “We’ll have to move him out of the trunk,” Peter said, picking up the corpse with as much of the fabric covering it as possible. 

“I know a place.” Stiles led the way into the woods, not heading for any path, but striding into the shadowy trees as if he had done this a thousand times before. 

The place turned out to be a campsite downwind from the house, and near to a little creek. Peter helped him lay the fairy out, but then stood back and watched as Stiles set up to drain the blood. It didn’t take him long to do. “Looks like you’ve done that before,” he observed, hearing Stiles mumble some words under his breath to make the cold blood warm up and run faster. 

“Would it surprise you to know that I learned from Scott?” Stiles chuckled to himself as he worked. “I used to be terrified of this stuff, needles, you know? But I had to get the tattoos for my magic, so Scott took me to the vet clinic with him to try and desensitize me. I just took blood from the animals, nothing big. But it did help, and I learned a lot, inadvertently.”

But there was a confidence to his movements that suggested quite a bit of practice. “You’ve had to be pack doctor, I take it?”

Stiles shrugged, switching out a full vial for an empty one, handing it to Peter to seal. “Well, I can handle a lot of stuff you guys can’t. Plus, you know, magic hands,” he wiggled one in the air and gave Peter a wink. He barely suppressed rolling his eyes. “But it’s not really my thing. Elemental magic, that’s easy as breathing. I just had to learn to control it, and the ink helps that. But healing magic I had to learn from the ground up.”

“When you saved Derek, you looked like you knew what you were doing.” It hadn’t crossed Peter’s mind that Stiles might have been guessing, or worse, improvising. At least it had worked. 

“If I had been able to be a little more zen, I wouldn’t have needed Lydia’s blood,” he admitted, looking down at the filling vial. “Fairy blood, even hers, has a lot of magical energy in it. If I can’t focus my own, I can steal it from somewhere else, but it’s…pretty shitty for everyone involved. She gave me hell for it in the morning, anyways.”

The vials were packed up with ice packs in the backpack when they were done, and Stiles took the medical instruments over to the creek to rinse them off. “Hold on to this,” he tossed the fairy elixir to Peter when he closed up the backpack, before tucking it up against a rock and making a gesture over it. The bag disappeared entirely. “Don’t let me forget where that was,” Stiles added, before turning to deal with the corpse.

Peter watched as he seemed to consider his options, glancing up at the sky where the moon was rising, back down to the dead fairy. Eventually he sighed. “I can’t think of a better way than to burn it,” he said, looking remorseful. “If you want to go run around until I’m done, I won’t blame you.”

Peter swallowed dryly. “I think I will,” and turned to leave, grateful for the out. But Stiles caught his hand before he went, and took off the charm that hid his alpha nature. Peter nodded, grateful, and shifted as he ran off. 

He didn’t go far. They were still inside the wards, but he didn’t want to leave Stiles by himself. Scott had been right, it wasn’t safe to be out there alone, and Peter trusted the fairies to stay outside the wards about as well as he could throw one of them. Which was to say, he was fairly confident in Stiles’ protective charms, but the small possibility remained something could go wrong.

Even through his vigilance, Peter didn’t forgotten to savour the feeling of running free with his senses wide again. He didn’t shift all the way to a wolf — he could, of course, being both a born wolf and an alpha — but he didn’t want to ruin his clothes. He was already chancing getting fairy blood on them, which was as much of a risk as he’d take in one night. 

He circled widely around where Stiles was taking care of things, staying upwind as much as possible, and only ran back to meet him when he heard footsteps moving through the underbrush. He shifted back as he saw Stiles ahead. “Thanks,” he said, hoping Stiles wouldn’t make a big deal about it. He only nodded, thankfully.

“So the question is,” Stiles said as they were paused briefly, “do we do the summoning inside the wards or out? Inside, and the fairy heads straight for the pack house if we fail.”

“But outside and reinforcements might arrive,” Peter countered. “And you think failure is an option? Perhaps I should have brought someone else, if that’s the case. Lydia seems the confident type, and I bet the fairies would be more receptive to a banshee than a mage.” 

He had only meant to tease, but found himself compelled back against a tree as Stiles turned on him. Even though it was past dusk Peter could see his eyes brightly. His magic was running high, the ozone-hazelnut scent permeating the air. Peter knew better than to taunt a wired witch, but he had yet to learn the lesson from a mage. He was rather looking forward to it. 

“I don’t think you’d want Lydia here,” Stiles said, circling the tree where he had Peter pinned. Peter only struggled a little, just for show. “She doesn’t have the highest opinion of you. It’s funny, actually,” he added, before stopping in front of the tree.

“Why…is that funny?” Peter asked through a groan. He struggled against the spell for real this time. He had hoped Stiles had some compassion, at least, but he only moved in closer to nudge at Peter’s throat with his lips, and Peter almost — _almost_ — felt compelled to tilt his head and bare it. 

“It’s funny,” Stiles said, smiling and moving down to kiss softly against the warm curve of his neck between words, “because if you recall, she said you were ‘shrouded in death’. It’s funny,” he paused again, moving back to meet Peter’s eyes, “because she’s always said the same thing about me.”

Peter either broke through the spell, or Stiles released it. Either way, he grabbed Stiles as he fell forward, sending them both to the forest floor. Werewolf reflexes stopped them from getting hurt, and Peter quickly had Stiles caged beneath him, eyes as red as beacons and fallen leaves and twigs scattering around them. Stiles looked up at him with an infuriatingly confident smile.

Peter ran his eyes slowly up and down his body, trying to decide where to start, when a crack in the forest up ahead caught his attention. He growled, claws digging into the earth as he lowered himself protectively, scanning the shadows for movement. But Stiles beneath him sighed, and pushed Peter off. “That would’ve been fun, but we probably should wait till we’re out of the danger zone,” he said, dusting leaves off himself as he stood up. 

Peter took a deep breath clear of his scent and centred himself, reversing the small shifts he had succumbed to. Every damn time, he cursed internally, forcing himself to appear composed. Stiles at least had the decency to look flushed, red creeping up his neck. 

“Something out in the woods?” he asked. Peter listened again, hearing nothing. But he was certain he hadn’t imagined it.

“Nothing there now. But I don’t believe we’re alone out here.”

“Inside the wards it is,” Stiles decided then, and started walking in the direction opposite the pack house. “We’ll do it at the nemeton. Home field advantage.”

Peter hadn’t seen the nemeton since he was young. Occasionally he had had to accompany his family’s pack when they were guests at druidic rituals, but he managed to get out of those once he was older. The tree didn’t look much different. Gloomier, perhaps, but everything in the forest was ominous in the dark. 

Stiles circled the clearing around the tree clockwise, then anti-clockwise, laying down some enchantment despite Peter’s assurances that whatever they encountered would not make it back to the pack house. “I’m not gonna summon some high-level fairy and let it roam free over our dead bodies,” he said, dismissing the argument with finality. 

Peter took out the flask of elixir while he waited and examined the container, not opening the lid. He could only presume it smelled the same as the basement workshop had. “And what about the bait?”

They decided to place it on a large flat stone, several paces away from the base of the tree. When that was done, Stiles climbed up onto one of the lower branches of the nemeton. “Come on,” he called Peter over, pulling himself up higher into the leaves. 

Peter just stared. “You can’t be serious.”

He was only answered by laughter from above, so he sighed and scaled up the tree too. “The nemeton’ll hide us,” Stiles said, patting the branch he sat on. “We go way back. I used to hide up here as a kid, sometimes.”

Though he had questions, Peter said nothing, and watched as Stiles took out the fairy’s medallion he had pocketed earlier, alongside a vial of the blood he had harvested. He had avoided touching either before, but now dipped a finger into the blood like paint and wrote across the metal surface: CHECK. 

Through the leaves, they watched as Stiles guided the medallion down through the air to land beside the elixir on the rock. “Now, we wait,” Stiles said, swinging his legs from the high branch.

Peter was less than thrilled to have to while away the night like some sort of bird, but at least the stakeout aspect was familiar. He always tried to keep his work confined to business hours, but he would be lying if he said it worked. Supernatural creatures just loved causing trouble at night. It was awfully cliched, and his sleep schedule did not appreciate it. 

Nothing happened for a few minutes. Stiles wasn’t the best at waiting, and couldn’t help talking. “How’d you become an alpha, anyway?”

Peter had been wondering when he would ask. He didn’t think he had ever actually told the story to anyone, not in detail, at least. “I was in France, hunting down the Argents. You know about them?” Stiles nodded. “They knew I was looking. Had a compound outside of Épinal. I found a small pack that lived out there, they had trouble with Argents for generations, and I talked them in to helping me raid the compound. I found Kate and Gerard. They put up a good fight,” he admitted, looking down at his hands, letting his claws extend. “But I was better, obviously.”

“And the other pack?”

“The alpha had been shot with wolfsbane. A great deal of it, she wasn’t coming back from that. It was a consensual mercy killing, I assure you.” He had been so overwhelmed with relief at the Argent’s death that it was the furthest thing from his mind to turn on those who had assisted him. He wasn’t a complete monster, after all. 

Stiles seemed to understand. “These things happen, I guess.” But after a beat, “What happened to her pack? Shouldn’t you have, y’know, inherited them?”

Peter shook his head. “There was no pack left, at that point.”

He had been the only one to walk out of the compound that day, and not before breaking all the gas mains to allow the place to fill up. He hadn’t gotten more than a mile away before he heard the explosion. “So you had to deal with the growing pains by yourself,” Stiles surmised.

“I couldn’t very well catch my return flight right away. Airplanes are hard enough on werewolves as it is.” He hadn’t been unhappy to have a forced European holiday, though the full moon had been particularly torturous. “I came back when I was ready.”

Stiles looked unhappy. It wasn’t pity, thank god. Peter couldn’t have stood seeing pity. It was true sadness, underscored with a touch of anger. “You were all alone,” he said again, “dealing with all that shit by yourself.” 

Peter was about to tell him it wasn’t such a big deal, that he had made the decision to go after them himself, after all, but was cut short. A change in the air pressure caught both their attentions, and though the leaves of the nemeton obscured their view, the scent on the air was unmistakable. Something fae had arrived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to leave them literally sitting in a tree. Not even k-i-s-s-i-n-g. It just seemed like the best place to stop, this chapter was getting long.
> 
> Thanks again for all the comments! They motivate me to keep doing this thang. Also, I'm still [over on tumblr as oriolevent](http://oriolevent.tumblr.com) there too!
> 
> And uh......danger zone.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter has feelings and it's the worst.

 

Two beings appeared in the clearing below the nemeton. Stiles strained to see through the branches, glimpsing the fairies they had summoned. Both of them seemed to be examining the blood-stained medallion from the scout, with little interest in the fairy elixir that sat beside it. 

Peter glanced over at Stiles, gauging his intent. He seemed focused, his mind working quickly. Peter was inclined to just drop down from the tree and provoke the fairies, but decided against it only as Stiles seemed to know a bit more about their opponents than he did. 

They didn’t have to wait long. “We receive your summons,” a female voice called out, English sounding foreign on her tongue. Her words not aimed at the nemeton in particular — at least they still had some element of surprise. “Your challenge for this territory has been heard, and we will entertain it.”

Peter scowled and pushed off from the hiding place, landing neatly on the ground below. He heard Stiles sigh and climb down rather ungracefully after him.

Two women stood across the way, ordinary enough in appearance. They could have passed for human with some effort, were they not clothed in strange organic-looking garments. They had furs about their shoulders that clearly hadn’t come from any creature on this planet. Outside the ring that Stiles had marked around the clearing shadows moved between the dark trees. If these fairies had brought company, they were unable to cross the barrier, at least.

“This isn’t your territory to receive challenges for,” Stiles told them, standing shoulder to shoulder with Peter. “Beacon Hills and the preserve belong to the McCall pack, and building your gate here is straight up trespassing.”

One of the fairies tilted her head curiously. She had white hair, bright like a full moon, while the other was of a much darker complexion. “This is ancient Hale land, and that family line has diminished. They have no alpha claiming for it, and so it goes vacant.”

“You should know that, little _druí_ , I can see you have some power about you,” the other fairy said. She pointed at the nemeton. “That tree is howling about it. We were not the first to notice. We have earned our place here.”

Peter didn’t turn to look at Stiles, but they both tensed up at her words for their own reasons. Stiles knew that McCall’s pack wasn’t bonded to the territory? It made sense, Peter had to admit, if his own alpha status had prevented the Hale land from being properly claimed by another wolf pack. Laura had moved away, formally abandoning the land, but he had never done so. His appearance must have solved a hell of a frustrating mystery for the mage. 

But he wasn’t about to show his hand to these fairies. “The pack has as much claim to it as you do, it seems,” Peter said, folding his arms across his chest. “And they’ve done a much better job of settling in. Your little attacks haven’t ended well, have they?”

Their expressions soured. “This is why you summon us, I presume,” the pale one said. “To settle matters on behalf of your alpha.”

“There’s no need to draw all our forces into the dispute,” Stiles reasoned, shifting where he stood. “Since you’re the ones that answered the summons, you must be the leaders.”

“Queen Ysolt,” the dark-haired fairy answered, gesturing to herself, “and King Emer,” she pointed to the other woman. “We have held these stations for generations. Which makes it more curious why your alpha does not present himself. He does not consider himself his strongest warrior?”

“He’s more of a lover than a fighter,” Stiles offered as an excuse, starting to roll up his sleeves. Both fairies tracked the motion, and began to look confused. “Do we have to do introductions too? Stiles, and this is Peter. We’re gonna give you one last chance to take your people and your gate the hell out of here, by the way.”

“We are?” Peter asked, but Stiles ignored him.

“You are in no position to barter,” Emer said. She gestured out into the forest; the shadows quivered where she pointed. “Your summoning was ill-thought, it allowed us past the wards. After we dispose of you, your pack will be taken care of quickly.”

Peter growled, and Stiles put out a hand to steady him. “Right, yeah, I don’t think so. It’s a good plan, I guess, except we can’t let that happen.”

He squeezed Peter’s shoulder, which was all the signal he needed to succumb to the wolf prowling under his skin and shift — he didn’t hesitate in his beta form, but slid into a full shift effortlessly. Stiles only backed away to give him room.

The fairies seemed to realize that Peter was actually an alpha at the same moment, and both lunged forward into an attack without hesitating. Stiles threw up a barrier with a quick gesture, enough to stop them both from landing blows on Peter, but doing nothing to stop the wolf from swiping at them with his sharp claws. All three bounced backward, Emer grabbing at her forearm that had been scathed. The fairies seemed to nonverbally agree on some tactic and Ysolt moved away from Peter, rounding on Stiles to take him on herself. 

Peter was fairly coherent in alpha form, if a little more bloodthirsty than normal. He could hear and smell the magic that Stiles and the fairy Queen launched at each other, but as long as he could hear the mage’s heartbeat — it was clear as day to him — he could focus on his own target. 

He noticed the fairy had changed as they circled one another between attacks. Her posture was more animalistic, hunched and ready to spring, and her teeth had grown sharp and needle-like — Peter recalled the fairy that had sunk its fangs into Cora’s arm that afternoon. It hadn’t been a toxic bite, so he didn’t hesitate to spring forward at the same moment she did, their clash in the air reverberating around the clearing.

The fairies’ appearances were all deceit, all illusion and magic. They had known that from the start. Only an idiot would underestimate their strength based on their appearances, which was yet another reason Peter was glad that the rest of the pack would not stay out of the fighting. His claws and alpha strength were met with equal force, the wounds inflicted sluggish to heal. But the fairy, Emer, looked equally injured, which was some small comfort.

She flung him backwards when he caught one of her arms in his jaws. Peter gripped the earth with his claws as he slid back, not being sent nearly as far as the fairy had seemed to intend. She gave him an acrid look, sparing a glance over to see how her partner fared. Peter didn’t bother looking — he could hear enough, and from Emer’s expression, he needn’t worry about Stiles. “Two-alpha pack,” Emer spat out, throwing the blood-splattered fur from her shoulders out of the way. “You think to share? Making one-pack with beta-alpha?” Her English became more fragmented with her frustration.

He couldn’t speak in this form, but the fairy seemed to hear the rude thoughts he had in response. “Big wolf, all animal thoughts I can hear,” she sneered, tapping the side of her head.

Advantageous, then. He clawed at the ground impatiently. “Your intel is rather lacking,” he thought for her benefit, “if you think there are no Hale alphas left. We’re more numerous than you might imagine.”

His eyes bled red, and he crouched to jump forward when Emer looked genuinely panicked. She held her ground, but shouted out something towards Ysolt in their own language — though Peter could distinctly pick out the word _Hale_ among the unfamiliar syllables. Behind the fairies he thought he saw the shadows in the trees begin to quiver and disperse, but before he could truly observe, the fairy Queen launched herself at him with a renewed ferocity.

She hadn’t been holding back before, but her attacks were fuelled by a desperate rage that made her stronger, but clumsier. Peter could dodge her clawed hands and the magic that burned around them, but she was relentless. She left no room for him to retreat to strategize again.

In the quickest moment, he saw an opening and lunged at her with his teeth bared. They made contact with her side, his paws keeping her from striking back with her claws as he tore into the blood-streaked flesh. She shrieked, but it was muffled in a moment as she sunk her own piercing fangs into his front leg. It was much less of a lethal blow, and when they pulled away from one another, her side was critically torn apart, while his arm was manageable.

But stepping back from the fairy, Peter felt a crushing weight in his wound — he looked at is as best he could in this form, and caught only the flickers of magic dispelling into his fur. Emer was collapsed on the ground, clutching her side, but looked smug through her expression of pain.

He took another step backwards, but felt concrete flowing through his veins further with each beat of his heart. He whined involuntarily, the staggering pain of it distracting him from hearing Stiles calling his name from somewhere across the clearing. He felt his shift recede, turning back human as he knelt on the ground.

“No Hale alpha now,” Emer choked out from where she lay, and Peter couldn’t muster a response. He fell forward onto the ground, the agony of the fairy Queen’s curse making his clawless hands grip fruitlessly at the churned soil beneath him. He saw only a flash of lightning come down from the sky when he turned his head towards Stiles’ battle, the glare obscuring his view of the man. Then only darkness, as he fell unconscious on the ground.

 

 

——————————

 

 

Whatever Peter had imagined death was like, this was hardly meeting his expectations. For one, he still felt all the pain of the fairy’s magic, though he couldn’t find his own body in the darkness to inspect it. It felt as if he were floating, no sense of time nor space. 

There were voices, though. They sounded concerned, empathetic, though indistinct. He didn’t _think_ that he had gone to hell — even in this strange purgatory he recalled that he should rub that in Niko’s face, since she had once sent him a terrible parody she found on one of her magic forums of _All Dogs Go To Heaven_ , with a rather inverted motif. 

He wasn’t sure how he would do that, though. Gradually shapes were becoming more distinct around him, though he couldn’t tell where he was. The pain was still there, but was ebbing away as he saw figures start to materialize too. They were too faint to make out, their formation before his eyes seeming to stall. Their voices were coming clearer. Somehow, they seemed familiar. 

Before he could call out any names in response, the shapes dissolved much faster than they had come. Things started moving in reverse, and he felt himself being drawn backwards — until even the darkness was gone.

 

 

—————————————

 

 

Peter gasped a breath, loud and starved like he had had the wind knocked out of him completely. He was on his back, on the ground in the forest, and it was quiet around him. 

His senses all came back to him in a rush and it took a minute before he was ready to sit up and reorient himself. His wounds were gone, that much he knew. He felt no more pain than if he had woken up in his own bed on a normal day — although his clothes were rucked up in a way that suggested he had been dragged some distance. 

Sitting up, he gripped at the ground as a wave of dizziness came and went. He was in the forest proper now, some distance from the nemeton’s clearing. There were no sounds of battle in the distance, only a single set of footsteps coming towards him. But he knew the heartbeat attached to them, slightly erratic compared to the slow pace he walked at. “You’re awake,” Stiles remarked as he came into view.

“What happened?” Peter demanded, his voice coming out hoarser than he expected. He couldn’t seem to catch Stiles’ eye, try as he might. The mage just glanced around the forest instead. 

“Are you able to walk?” he asked, instead of answering Peter’s question. He pulled himself up to his feet and felt steady enough, but was cut off from speaking again. “Let’s go, the sun’ll be up in a few hours.”

Stiles didn’t pause to check if he was okay, only started walking back to the pack house. Peter followed after, puzzled at his strange behaviour, but he still felt disoriented and in no position to start an interrogation. He glanced down at his arm, and the sleeve of his jacket was repaired — it had been torn from the fairy’s teeth, he was sure of it. The skin underneath was equally as unmarred, and if he had less confidence in his own memory, he would have wondered if the entire night had happened at all. 

Nothing was said when they reached the house, nor when Stiles disappeared in through the front door first. They were both silent as they entered, and Stiles took the opportunity to disappear instantly into one of the back wings of the house without so much as a goodnight. A faint light glowed at the end of the hallway as he opened a door, then it was gone.

Peter only shook his head tiredly, and made his way upstairs to his room. There would be plenty of time to figure out what had happened when he was less exhausted, and he was asleep within minutes of falling into his bed. 

When he awoke hours later, the first thing he remembered was that he had died that night. He couldn’t think of any other explanation for what had happened. Or was the fairy’s magic just another trick? He rubbed a hand over his face, blocking out the late morning sunlight that streamed in from the window. When he raised his arm he saw the charms were tied around his wrist again. He wondered when Stiles had done it. 

The house was quiet, which was strange given that it was a Sunday. After the longest, hottest shower of his life, he crept down to the kitchen. It was empty, save for Lydia sitting in the window seat, a cup of tea and a book in hand. She looked up, as if she had been waiting for him. 

“Where’s Stiles?” he asked, and she looked pleased, as if this was the right thing to ask. 

“He’s out in the woods with Scott. Everyone else is out running the boundaries.” She marked the page in her book before closing it, and gestured for him to come sit near her. He did so hesitantly, as this was a drastic change in her behaviour towards him. “No need to look so suspicious,” she remarked, sipping her tea. “I stayed behind to answer your questions, since nobody else seemed interested in the task.”

“And why would you do that?” Peter’s confusing was only growing, but he tried to school it into the appearance of mild annoyance. 

Lydia shrugged. “Maybe I just didn’t want to get my shoes dirty running around in the dirt. But go ahead, ask what you’re thinking.”

He frowned, looking at her. “I died last night,” he said.

“You did.”

“You didn’t scream.” 

She appeared unimpressed. “I was asleep at the time. I saw it in a dream. Banshees couldn’t be expected to live in cities if we couldn’t control the screaming. It’s harder when you’re younger,” she added thoughtfully, but her reflective mood passed as quickly as it arrived. “That’s not what you want to ask.”

He wanted to ask why Stiles wasn’t here giving him the answers, why the mage was avoiding him, what happened after he lost consciousness. But he didn’t think Lydia would have all those answers. “What do you want me to say? Ask why I’m alive? By all means, please tell me.”

She sighed, pausing to sip from her teacup again. “Stiles told me you’re an alpha,” she said, ignoring his surprise. “He also told me about your little plan, and what went wrong. I don’t care to repeat the story and I’ll spare you from the lecture that I gave him, since you’re not my responsibility. But he saved your sorry ass and I don’t know how you’re going to start making it up to him.”

Peter had assumed this much himself, but wondered at how much Stiles had revealed. “McCall doesn’t know,” she said, as if reading his thoughts. “The story is, you two were attacked inside the wards mysteriously last night, and Stiles had to save you. Nobody questions that he was strong enough to handle some rogue fairies, lucky for you.”

“What exactly did he have to do?” He remembered back to what Stiles had told him about healing magic the day before. He wasn’t that good at it, he had said. Current evidence seemed to be proving that wrong.

Lydia shook her head. “Patience. Now, come along,” she stood up from the window seat, smoothing down her floral skirt. “We’re going out.”

“I thought you were supposed to answer my questions,” he said, not moving from where he sat. “And correct me if I’m wrong, but you aren’t terribly fond of me. You can’t blame me for being rather apprehensive.” 

She glanced over her shoulder from where she had gone to get her purse off the counter. “I’m not fond of you, but I apparently underestimated how important you are to people who are important to me. Therefore we’re going out for breakfast and then to Marin’s house.”

“Deaton’s sister?” Peter yielded and followed her out to her car, sitting in the passenger seat. “I thought they left town.”

“He did, when he retired,” Lydia explained as they drove away from the house. Peter thought he glimpsed some of the pack in the forest as they passed through, but they seemed to keep their distance from the road. “You reek of death, worse than usual. The wolves can’t tolerate it and Stiles is too emotional to help me, so I need Marin’s assistance to make you somewhat palatable again.”

He didn’t argue. There was some feeling he hadn’t been able to shake, even after the scalding shower. But aside from that, he had a growing concern about Stiles. “Is he okay?” 

Lydia kept her eyes on the road, and didn’t seem to react to the question. “He will be,” she offered after a moment, frustratingly vague. “It just…it took a lot out of him. Listen, do you want me to tell you, or do you want to hear it from him?”

He weighed his options. He didn’t know how long it would be until he could reach Stiles, and even then he had some suspicion that he wouldn’t get a concise answer. “Tell me.”

They pulled into the parking lot of one of the nicer restaurants in town. The staff inside seemed to know Lydia and led them to a private booth away from the crowds of brunch-goers. “I’m just going to go call Scott first,” Lydia said, stepping away from the table after they ordered. 

Peter looked down at his hands, folded on the table. The dull noise of the restaurant didn’t bother him as it usually might. His mind kept wandering back to the voices he had heard after falling unconscious, how familiar they were. He took a deep breath and pulled out his phone to distract himself. Finding no messages, he send off one to Niko. _So I guess I died last night_. 

He sent it off, the truth of the words starting to hit him after seeing them written out. He wished he could see Derek or Cora. That was a hell of an unusual feeling, not one he could remember having before. The sooner Lydia came back, the better. 

His phone went off seconds later. _What the fuck. Who is this_?

He frowned at the screen. _What’s that supposed to mean?_ he wrote back. _This kind of greeting was not worth coming back to life for._

A few seconds after hitting send, his phone was ringing. He sighed, thinking of the long-distance charges, and accepted the call. “Yes?”

“Holy shit. Shit, you actually did it. Okay, hold on, I’m putting you on speaker phone.” He could hear Niko fumbling with her phone’s screen before her voice came back, slightly tinny from the speaker. “Okay, tell Viola you’re not dead.”

“I’m not dead,” he repeated. He glanced around and saw only a passing waiter give him a strange look before moving on. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Viola screeched, and Peter had to move the phone from his ear. He had never heard either woman so animated before. “I _felt you die_ , you jackass! We spent the morning debating if we should go get your corpse!”

“That would have been very thoughtful of you,” Peter acknowledged, “but thankfully it’s unnecessary. However, care to tell me how you felt that from this distance?”

“Don’t be coy, you dick,” Niko said, “you know it’s pack bonds. Deny it all you want, we know they’re there now.”

Peter hummed. “I don’t know how I feel about my pack using all this abusive language towards me.”

They squabbled back and forth for a while, and truthfully Peter was relieved to listen to their banter. If the fairy King and Queen were dead — and he still had to confirm that — then he would be returning home to Vancouver soon. He should have felt relieved at that.

Lydia returned to the table, and he told them as much. “We need the whole story when you have things straightened out,” Niko told him, more compassion in her words than he had thought her capable of. “And get your ass back up here, or we’re coming down to you. Work is slow and it’s boring without you, unfortunately.”

“I have no doubt,” he agreed, and promised to call them back. 

When he put his phone away, Lydia was studying him over her sparkling water. “That was your pack?”

“Apparently,” he said. The idea of pack bothered him less than he thought it would before. He had gained quite a lot of perspective over the past twenty-four hours, he supposed. 

Lydia asked what they were like, and he tried to describe them as succinctly as possible. But when he mentioned one of them was a banshee, she demanded to know her full name. “I’ve heard of her,” she said, thinking. “I’ve met most banshees in the states, but haven’t run into her yet. I’ll look forward to that.”

“You’re presuming you’ll have the opportunity,” he said, and she only rolled her eyes. 

“Please. You think you’re going to escape Stiles’ clutches now? I know how quickly wolves bond, I _am_ married to one. And Stiles is probably worse. He spent half of high school convinced he was in love with me simply because I existed near him. He doesn’t need much to go on.” 

“I was under the impression that Stiles isn’t terribly interested in seeing me,” Peter said, trying not to let on how much it bothered him.

“He just needs some time.” She pulled out her phone, tapping on the screen. “It’s easier if I show you before I explain. I asked Scott to send me some photos.” She handed the phone over to him.

It took him a moment to figure out what he was looking at. “That’s the nemeton,” he realized, though the tree could hardly be called that anymore. It wasn’t much more than a charred stump, and as he flipped through the photos he saw many of the trees surrounding the clearing in a similar state. Like they had been torn apart and set ablaze all at once. 

“Stiles said he saw the fairy kill you, and he got a little out of control,” she explained. 

“So he destroyed the tree?”

“No, god no. He took destroyed the fairies. The tree, well. Do you know anything about healing magic?” Peter explained what Stiles had told him. “Okay, so he needed magical energy to siphon off to you in order to bring you back. He had a few choices, I presume — burn himself out, or use up every living thing in the preserve, or use the big magical battery that was growing nearby. Or let you die, I suppose.”

Peter looked at the photos again. “He did that for me.”

“Oh, it gets worse,” Lydia said. She took her phone back and started to reply to a text that came in from Jackson. “Where do you think Stiles got his magic from?”

Peter didn’t understand the question. “Wasn’t he born with it?”

“I mean, which parent. I suppose you never met either of them. His mother, is the answer,” she explained. “She was a pretty talented mage too, from what I hear. But his skill really took off after she died. That’s the thing about mages,” she paused, turning off her phone and setting it aside. “He told me the difference between a mage and a witch is where the power comes from. For witches, it can come from coven bonds, from love — fairy tale stuff, really. Mage magic is all about pain. The more you suffer, the stronger you get.”

“And he’s very strong,” Peter said.

Lydia nodded. “It was bound to be the case, being part of a pack like this. His life isn’t a mire of perpetual tragedy, don’t get me wrong — but he feels loss strongly. And the nemeton, that was a connection to his mother. She looked after it, and used to take him with her there, apparently.”

Their food arrived, cutting off the story. Lydia wasted no time in tucking into her eggs while they were hot, and Peter slowly picked at his meal. So that was why Stiles avoided him now. Hell, he’d do the same in his position. He’d spent over a decade avoiding the town where his family had died, and still hadn’t gone back to the old house. He was the last person to underestimate the bonds that grief left you with.

“It will grow back,” Lydia said after she had finished eating and allowed him to brood for a few minutes. “It’ll take a few generations, but eventually it will.”

“That somehow doesn’t make me feel much better,” he sighed, pushing his plate aside. 

Lydia picked up her napkin and dabbed her mouth with it. “What on earth made you think I was trying to make you feel better? You can pay for brunch, I’m going to call Marin to tell her we’re on our way.” She stepped out of the booth, taking her purse with her. 

They didn’t speak as much on the drive to Marin’s house, as Lydia seemed perfectly content to let him stew in his thoughts, absorbing the gravity of what was done for his sake. That was probably her plan, he thought idly as they pulled up into the driveway of an average looking suburban home. Keeping him away from the pack so nobody could offer him any consolation all day. 

The thing was, despite realizing how much of a personal cost it had been to Stiles, Peter was absolutely grateful and wouldn’t wish for things to have unfolded differently. Well, okay, perhaps avoiding the fairy’s teeth in the first place would have been tactical. But realizing what Stiles had sacrificed for him only made him more impatient to see him again. He thought he was being very patient, sitting on Marin’s couch and texting Niko while he waited for them to prepare the spell instead of taking off running. Lydia disagreed and berated him for looking like a lost dog. “He’ll find you when he’s ready,” she told him. He hoped she was right. 

The purification spell was remarkably easy, at least on his end of things. He simply stood in the circle they drew and waited as Marin read off the enchantment, his thoughts elsewhere. When Lydia inspected him with her glassy banshee eyes, she deemed him fit for werewolf company again, and shuffled him back into the car. 

As a rule, Peter avoided forming serious attachments to people. Or at least he had tried. Evidently he had not succeeded, if Niko and Viola were any evidence. But they worked well together, and he liked their company. Their pack bonds had formed so naturally he hadn’t even noticed them. 

The things he admired about them, he saw amplified and then some in Stiles. He was loyal but ruthless, willing to go to dangerous lengths to protect his pack — try and find an alpha who wouldn’t find that attractive. But he was also brilliant, with dodgy morals and a bit of a danger kink that had Peter sighing and staring out the window listlessly. 

By the time they pulled up to the house, most of the pack were home again. When Peter stepped inside he saw Erica and Jordan pass by, each offering him a tense smile. He was in no mood to deal with sympathy or any associated emotions, however, and retreated up to his room. 

The sheets were still pushed back from where he had slept. He laid back on top of them, feeling the slightest twinge of a headache. It had been a while since he had one, and knew it was thanks to being near his blood relatives. Now, he suspected it was only an indicator of the distance between him and his pack members — unless it was something else. Burying his face in the pillow he caught the faint scent of hazelnut that lingered there. He let out the faintest subvocal whine, which startled him immensely. Sitting up, he took his phone out of his pocket and sent out a text. _Please tell me I’ve never been this undignified before._

Niko seemed to know exactly what he meant. _Your past flings have always found you aloof and insufferably cold_ , she reassured him. _If you’ve got a gross crush then it must be something special._

He didn’t write back. There were footfalls coming up the stairs and he opened up his emails, checking them inattentively as the door creaked and Cora came in, Derek following shortly after. They climbed onto the bed with him, sitting near but not crowding him. He didn’t say anything until they did. 

“Are you okay?” Cora finally asked. 

“Couldn’t be better.” He truly was in perfect physical condition. Not an ache or pain to account for. Cora’s eyes still narrowed a little, as if she didn’t believe him.

“We’re going to wipe out the fairies tomorrow night,” Derek announced. He was uncharacteristically enthusiastic about the pending conflict, though Peter knew it would be nothing like what they expected. He would be surprised if the fairies even showed up. “Scott’s ready to forget the negotiations altogether and just destroy the gate. I mean, they got in past the wards, so who knows what else they’ve been up to.”

Peter didn’t bother to correct him. If Stiles wasn’t circulating the real story, then he wasn’t about to do so. At the very least he had accomplished what he had intended last night: the danger that his niece and nephew would face from the fairies was severely diminished. That had been his goal in dragging the fairy corpse back, wasn’t it?

Cora was still looking unhappy. “Did this happen because we killed that scout?” 

“I don’t think so. Listen,” Peter sat up from his lounging position, looking at them both seriously. “I’m fine. A few more fairies are dead, and I’m not. Stop looking so morose, you’re making me sad just looking at you.”

Neither of them seemed amused, but they at least stopped treading so lightly around him. They spent the rest of the afternoon together, not going far from Peter’s room. 

Cora remarked that she had to return to Los Angeles in a few days. “I’m dreading it,” she admitted. “It’s been nice taking time off work. I can’t express myself properly there, they probably wouldn’t appreciate the subtleties of flashing eyes or fangs. S’been nice, being around the pack again.”

Peter hummed thoughtfully. “I’m surprised you live out of town. Hales never fare well far from their pack, your mother was that way. Talia went down to Phoenix for college and called home probably every other day. She hated being so far from everyone.”

Derek had been quiet for a while, sitting in the chair by the window, flipping through a book that had been left on the room’s bookshelf. “You know you’re a Hale too, Peter.”

“Am I? I hadn’t noticed.”

“We should be pack,” Derek continued, ignoring him. “We know it must be hard for you to be an omega, and maybe hard to get used to being a pack again. But you know Scott would welcome you here, and it would mean a lot to Cora and me.” He looked at his sister to corroborate the story, and she nodded her agreement. 

Peter sighed. He looked at the charms on his wrist, debating what he should do. “I’m afraid that isn’t possible,” he said, and saw how Derek seemed to retreat internally at the rejection. “It’s not quite what you think. I probably should have told you both this sooner.”

When he flashed his red eyes at them, Derek’s mouth actually fell open. Cora was less shocked. “I should have known,” she lamented. “This makes too much sense. Those stupid charms are so ugly, I couldn’t figure out why you’d wear them.”

“Yes, well, I still don’t know how to bring this up to your alpha, so for the time being they’re staying on.” He had hoped that if the truth came out, Stiles would have some sort of plan for revealing the truth to his best friend. He was less confident about doing so himself. 

“And your pack?” Derek asked.

“I didn’t lie before, I simply wasn’t aware that I had one,” he confessed. “I’ve recently been informed that I was electing to ignore the pack bonds.”

They lapsed into a silence. Peter was highly suspicious of what both his nephew and niece were thinking about. Predictably Cora burst out first, “You should move back here.”

“It’s a bit of a small town for two alphas, don’t you think?”

“Then come to LA with me. It’s close enough, Derek can stay here but still be pack. And you can be a lawyer in the city, or whatever it is you do.”

Moving back to California had been the last thing on his mind. If anything, he had toyed with the idea of New York, admittedly because he knew a certain mage was based there. But he shook his head. “It’s a nice thought, but I can’t. My pack is in Vancouver, I can’t leave them behind. And don’t talk about leaving, McCall will feel the pack bonds waning and come in here crying.”

Cora laughed a little, but he saw she was disappointed. Derek, too. They didn’t talk about packs or anything else tedious for the rest of the evening, and went out for pizza instead of having dinner with the rest of the wolves at the house. 

The restaurant was closer to the end of the town and the preserve where the old Hale house had stood, and they hadn’t been there together since the days before the fire. Not much had changed. The tables were in the same places and the faded travel posters were still framed on the walls. They sat in a familiar corner, memories sitting like ghosts with them at the table. “Not a pack, my ass,” Cora muttered after they ate, as she watched her brother and uncle bicker over who would pay the bill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like making my stories a little humorous and I don’t think this chapter included many laughs. But I hope you enjoyed it anyways! If you caught the reference to The Magicians then good job. I'm loving that show right now. 
> 
> I think the next chapter will be the last one. Don’t forget that [I’m on tumblr!](http://oriolevent.tumblr.com/)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter! Thanks for sticking it out!

 

The full moon came the following night, hanging low and round in the sky. Peter watched it from his bedroom window, listening to the pack assembled downstairs. They were all buzzing with nervous energy, apart from himself, Stiles and Lydia. They knew the fairy king and queen were dead. It wouldn’t be so much a fight as a surrender, that night.

Peter wasn’t going with them. He had been lurking round the edges of the room while the plans were being made, torn between leaving and staying since this was the first time he had seen Stiles since that night in the forest. 

He looked stressed, Peter thought. He wouldn’t meet Peter’s eye, focusing only on Scott as he relayed the plan to the rest of the pack. They would meet the fairies, make their peace offering, and demand they leave the preserve for good. “We looked over the numbers, and have one too many, apparently,” Scott said, glancing at three others who had arrived that afternoon — Danny, Ethan, and Aiden. “So actually, if you don’t mind staying home, Peter, that would be great. Not that we don’t want you there,” he quickly added, “but you’re the least connected to the pack, so it’s just what makes sense.”

Peter was sure it was Stiles’ suggestion, and so he graciously agreed to stay behind. Scott had looked relieved, as if he expected some other reaction. 

Before he retreated upstairs, Derek stopped Peter in the hall. “We’ll take care of this,” he assured his uncle. “I’ll keep an eye on him for you.”

He didn’t even know what to say in reply. Derek was trying to be comforting, but there was no chance he’d be protecting Stiles — if anything it would be the other way around. But Peter knew there wouldn’t be a fight at all, so he only said thank you, and went up to his room. 

Ever since he had stopped ignoring the pack bonds between himself and Niko and Viola back home, they’d been endlessly distracting. The girls seemed to enjoy toying with them, so much that Peter would occasionally feel a tiny burst of emotion that he knew didn’t belong to him, followed by a buzz from his phone. _Feel that one?_ Niko texted, just as he watched the pack leave the house and disappear into the dark forest. 

_Yes,_ he wrote back, _and I’d prefer if you didn’t test the bonds when you’re fucking each other._

_We’re just getting preemptive revenge_ , Niko replied. _We know how much of an exhibitionist you are, no way you’re not going to broadcast when you’re getting jiggy with Stiles._

He sighed, moving over to his bed and lying face down on the pillow. The odds of that happening seemed increasingly low, based on how Stiles was intent on ignoring him. Not to mention, once the fairies were gone, they would both be leaving Beacon Hills again. _Who even says ‘getting jiggy’?_ he wrote back, not willing to play into her hand any more than that. 

Eventually he dozed off, the quiet house reminding him of his empty apartment back in Vancouver. If nothing else, he slept extremely well there. His phone buzzed a few times, but he elected to ignore it. It was getting late, and eventually Niko would give up on her persistent questions about packs for the night.

But after an hour or so, he jolted upright out of his light sleep. He thought for a moment his phone had woken him, but after a second another wave of panic ran through him. It wasn’t his emotion, it felt distinctly alien — he picked up his phone to call Niko, but it started ringing before he could dial.

“What’s happening?” Niko asked, sounding on the verge of panic herself. “Are you okay?”

“It isn’t me. It isn’t you?”

“No,” Niko sounded distant for a moment as she leaned away to check with Viola again. “It’s neither of us. Who else could it be?”

Peter thought for only a moment, before he felt panic of his own. “Derek and Cora,” he said, and hoped that Niko would understand as he ended the call and leapt from his bed, running out of the house. 

He knew vaguely where the fairy gate was located from Stiles’ maps, but it was easier to follow the tugging feeling that he felt sure came from his niece and nephew. They clearly hadn’t listened when he told them not to start shifting their loyalty — but at the moment he had a hard time regretting it. 

The sensation of panic travelling through pack bonds was one that he hadn’t felt in more than a decade. It had been that long since he had a pack, really, and the fire had cut off most of those — cauterized, more like. Fate had a twisted sense of humour, giving him a full dose of that same feeling only a few days after allowing new bonds to form. 

He would curse his luck later. The trees flew past him in a blur, and he could hear the sounds of fighting up ahead — he tore off the charms on his wrist so he could use the full strength of his senses, listening for the sound of familiar heartbeats, familiar voices. Anything.

He recognized the gate instantly, despite having never seen one before. It was a stone archway, with some sort of magic field rippling over the entranceway. It looked relatively harmless. On the other hand, the full court of fairies tearing into the pack was far more alarming. He couldn’t count them all, they were moving too much, but Peter felt a sinking suspicion that a new royal couple had been elected in the short time that Emer and Ysolt had been dead. 

Quickly he located the most important wolves — Derek and Cora were fighting close to each other, but three fairies were cornering them away from the rest of the pack. And not too far from them he saw Stiles, up against another fairy himself. But Peter saw his arm hanging awkwardly, and the mage seemed to be doing his best to cast one-handed, his face determined but pained.

Peter felt the roar bubbling up in his chest like liquid fire before it burst out over the battleground, shaking through every body there. It was wrought with alpha power, the anger at his injured packmates and his…well, Stiles, giving it more fuel than even he expected. It seemed to shock the fairies — most of them stopped in place, and as soon as one cried out something in their language which included a distinct cry of _Hale_ , the majority of them turned tail and bolted through the archway, disappearing entirely.

The wolves were startled, but quickly took the distraction to round the remaining fairies together, circling around them. Derek and Cora hurried to Peter’s side, and he reached out for each of them, running a hand over their cheeks and checking them over. No lethal injuries.

“We surrender,” one of the fairies called out, sheathing their sword and raising empty hands up. 

“Uh, good,” Scott answered, slurring around his shifted face. “But, uh, why?”

The fairy turned and glanced at him for a moment, before turning back to Peter. Everyone seemed to realize at that moment that Scott had not been the alpha addressed. “We were misinformed that you had died, Alpha Hale. We do not wish to make the mistake that King Emer and her queen made. We ask that you accept our surrender, and we shall take our people and retreat.”

Peter considered it. There were only five fairies left, and they could make relatively short work of them, even with some injured wolves. But he remembered Cora and Derek standing at his sides. “Fine,” he answered, “but take down the gate when you leave.”

The fairy bowed, the rest of its people doing the same, before they turned and hurried through the gate. It blinked out of existence a mere moment after they were gone. 

“Oh my god,” Cora broke the silence they were left with. She was so relieved she threw her arms around her uncle. “You saved our asses. Thank you.”

Derek had a hand on Peter’s shoulder, and some of the other wolves were turning to thank him as well. He had no interest in their gratitude, of course, and focused on his niece and nephew until he heard Stiles in the background. “Scott, calm down, buddy—“

They turned to see Scott fully wolfed out, his eyes bright red as he bared his fangs at Peter. Stiles continued to try and talk him out of it. “You’re worked up from the full moon, don’t try and do anything stupid, dude.”

Peter approached him slowly. “I’m not looking to take anything from you, Scott. I realize the territory hasn’t transferred to you because I’m an alpha, but I didn’t come here with the intention of claiming it.”

He realized a moment too late that Derek and Cora were flanking him again — clearly picking sides, and choosing one alpha over the other. Scott roared and leaped at him, Peter meeting him halfway to try and keep him away from the others. He didn’t shift into a full wolf, but matched Scott’s fangs and claws.

He knew he had more experience than the other alpha, and even with their matched strength Peter was confident he could handle Scott. His control was better, especially since he wasn’t the one being threatened on his home turf. But he was immensely grateful when he felt a magical barrier thrown between them, pushing Scott some distance away.

“Cut this the fuck out,” Stiles shouted at them, teeth gritted as he clutched his arm again. He had to use it to cast, Peter realized, and immediately abandoned his scrap with Scott to go to Stiles’ side. 

His arm was banged up, but not bleeding much — it seemed to be broken in at least one place. Peter touched it gingerly, Stiles flinching until he started to drain some of his pain away. Some of his tension faded, and he finally looked Peter in the eye. He felt his heart jump, sure that the others could hear, when he saw some tenderness in the expression. 

“Kira, Isaac, go help Scott,” Stiles instructed, startling the observers out of their silence. Soon everyone was moving, checking on one another and mingling around their actual alpha. 

Derek was hovering near Stiles until he caught his notice. “I’m gonna take him out of here,” Stiles gestured to Peter, who was still holding his broken arm. “Let Scotty cool off, tell him I’ll call in the morning.”

He looked hesitant to leave, but Derek agreed and went with the rest of the pack. Stiles nudged Peter back towards the house, leaving the others to deal with the fallout. 

 

———————————————

 

It was mostly quiet on the drive across Beacon Hills. Stiles had suggested going to his dad’s house, since the sheriff was working overnight and wouldn’t be around to freak out about his broken arm. “You can fix it though, right?” Peter asked, looking nervously at the bruising near Stiles’ shoulder. 

“Yeah, I’ve got some stuff that’ll help at home — can’t just go at it now, the pain is distracting.” Peter hadn’t stopped draining the pain yet. It must have hurt worse than he thought. 

Following Stiles directions, Peter drove the car — Cora’s, he was sure she would only protest a little at his borrowing it — to the Stilinski house, only letting Stiles go for a minute when they got out to go to the front door. 

Stiles led them inside and upstairs to what must have been his childhood bedroom. There was a suitcase on the floor, but other than that it didn’t appear that the room had changed much in the years that he had been away. It still looked like a highschooler had decorated it. “Can you pull out the box under the bed,” he asked Peter, gingerly sitting down and bracing for the pain when he had to let go.

He was surprised to find an actual wooden crate rather than a shoebox or something, like he had been expecting. Peter tried to open it but found it sealed quite tightly, the lid only flipping open when Stiles ran a finger along the edge. There were a number of pungent ingredients inside, and Stiles grabbed a vial of something unpleasantly brown and unstopped it with his teeth, dousing his good hand in the substance. 

“What exactly is that?” Peter asked, a little revolted.

“Just a thing I made with the fairy blood we harvested,” Stiles said, distracted as he slapped the hand full of potion onto his own broken arm. “Didn’t think I’d need it so soon, but.” His expression was pained as the hand began to glow softly, like it had when he healed Derek.

Peter watched in silence. He could feel the pack bonds clearly with Derek and Cora now, and they were calm, if a little shaken. And not that he was about to mention it, but he felt the faintest tug towards Stiles, too — nothing concrete. Just a possibility, really. But he knew better than to bring it up now. 

“So,” Stiles started when the light dimmed around his hand. Whatever had been in the potion, it completely absorbed, and he stretched his arm out, good as new. “Guess that didn’t quite go as we anticipated.”

“They must not have lingered around after the fight the other night,” Peter said, sitting on the very edge of the bed, down a ways from Stiles. 

“It’s like I’m always telling Scott,” Stiles half-smiled, “you gotta stay past the credits. There’s always a bonus scene you can’t afford to miss.”

Neither said anything for beat, the awkwardness eventually breaking Stiles first. “I guess you’ve got a pack now, huh? No more lone wolf lifestyle. You’ll probably have to move down here again, won’t you?”

Peter had considered it briefly. But Derek and Cora still had some connection to Scott, and he knew that the other alpha wouldn’t chase them away once he was calm. “Actually, I’ve recently acknowledged my pack members back in Vancouver. They probably need me more than Derek and Cora, right now.”

Stiles looked disappointed, but quickly shook it off. “Oh, yeah, of course. I mean, that’s great. Niko and the other one, right? The banshee?”

“Viola.”

“Yeah.” Stiles ran a hand back through his hair, staring down at the wooden crate. He made a gesture and the lid flew back on, before sliding down to the floor and returning under the bed. 

Peter watched how effortlessly he did this. “Stiles,” he said, waiting until he looked up and met his eyes. “I never got to thank you for what you did.” 

“It’s no big deal,” Stiles brushed it off, but Peter wouldn’t let him.

“You sacrificed something for me. You saved my life.”

Stiles shrugged. “Well, technically I didn’t, you really did die. If I saved your life you wouldn’t have died at all. I reanimated you — like a zombie, but, y’now, more normal.” 

Peter didn’t respond. His eyes were glowing red, and Stiles noticed, his own widening slightly. Peter watched as he licked his lips, maybe a nervous gesture, but it didn’t matter — when he leaned forward, Stiles met him halfway, kissing him hard and pulling him backwards onto the bed. 

Peter groaned as Stiles ran his hands through his hair and down his neck, fully aware of what he was doing as he covered Peter in his scent. Peter licked into his mouth before moving along his jaw, not rushing but eager to start sucking into the soft pale skin at the bottom of his throat. Stiles moaned, and loud. Peter nipped at him to see if he could do that again. He could.

Removing clothing as he went, Peter worked his way down Stiles chest, finding a path down his stomach with his tongue. The hard muscles didn’t really surprise him, he had seen Stiles move in combat already, but he hadn’t thought to fantasize about exactly how _vocal_ he would be. “Fuck, Peter,” he said between more lewd sounds, kicking his jeans off as Peter undid them, underwear disappearing a second later. “Couldn’t let you die, what’s the point of magic if I can’t—“

“Shhh,” Peter hushed him, enjoying how Stiles squirmed when his breath hit him. He took a moment to survey up his body, seeing the reddening skin where Peter had touched him, and his face, flushed and unguarded. “You’re absolutely delicious,” he said, liking how Stiles seemed to flush even more before glancing away. 

He licked once at his cock before taking it all into his mouth, Stiles bucking forward until Peter pinned his hips down with one hand. He sucked him until his moans evened out, reaching some sort of rhythm, before he lifted his legs to nip at each thigh before moving further back. 

When he ran his tongue over Stiles’ hole, he felt his whole body tense with a gasp, before relaxing into it. Peter heard something like a drawer opening before a bottle of lube was tossed down on the bed beside him. “Thanks,” he said, Stiles laughing at him.

He didn’t stop licking as he opened Stiles up, becoming distracted as he was determined to suck as many bruises into either thigh as he could. He had only just worked a third finger in when Stiles seemed to become impatient and before Peter knew what was happening, he was flipped onto his back, Stiles looming over him.

“Sorry, I just need you to fuck me, like, now,” he said, pouring out some lube and rubbing it onto Peter. 

“Condom?” he asked, though Stiles seemed to have his own agenda.

He paused, giving Peter a fond look. “You’re probably the politest person I’ve ever slept with.”

“Just trying to be considerate.”

“I know werewolves are clean,” he said, moving to line himself up. “You’re not the first wolf I’ve fucked, you know.”

Stiles had a devious smile as he sank down onto Peter’s cock, gasping not just from the sensation but from the growl and glowing eyes that he got in return. Peter sat up, wrapping his arms possessively around Stiles while thrusting up into him. 

Maybe it was the stress of the night, or just the enduring sexual tension, but it wasn’t long before they reached a quick pace. Peter could feel himself getting close, and buried his face into Stiles’ neck — the temptation to sink his teeth into his shoulder was strong, but he pushed it away. He couldn’t make any sort of claim on him, despite how tempting it was when Stiles whimpered as he let his fangs ghost over the skin. 

Stiles reached between them and fisted his cock for only a second before he came, spilling out over his hand and onto Peter. A few thrusts later and Peter was gone, too. He pumped up slowly, savouring every moment of the blinding pleasure before it started to ebb away to satisfaction — he couldn’t think that this might be the only time this happened. He pushed that though away, too. 

Stiles was pliant and warm post-orgasm, happy to be manhandled down into the bed. He pulled Peter down into a sloppy kiss before letting him go to get a washcloth. When they were reasonably cleaned off, Peter pulled the covers over them both and caught Stiles around the middle, dragging him in close. 

“That was great,” Stiles mumbled out, already starting to fall asleep. “Way better than car blowjobs. Would recommend. Would bang again.”

Peter just rumbled in reply, nuzzling into Stiles hair, a little damp with sweat. He fell asleep content in the scent of them both mixed together.

 

———————————

 

When he opened his eyes, Peter took a full minute before everything that had happened came rushing back to him. The room was unfamiliar since he had seen it only in the dark, but his other senses told him exactly where he was. That, and Stiles, wrapped around him like an octopus. 

He sighed, sinking back into the pillow. It was a kind of lovely torture to enjoy this moment. In a day or two he would be on a flight back home, and Stiles would be driving back to New York. He wondered briefly how impractical flying back and forth from Vancouver to the east coast would be. 

There was a clock across the room, and he saw it was already after ten. He took a deep breath, trying to commit the moment to memory, before nudging Stiles awake. “You said you were going to call Scott,” Peter reminded him, though the other alpha was the last thing he wanted to talk about first thing in the morning. 

“Mmm,” Stiles writhed for a moment before half-opening his eyes. “Right. Where’s my phone?”

Peter reached over the side of the bed to find his jeans and passed Stiles his phone. He squinted up at the screen before making a call, Peter curling up against him again. “Hey Der,” he said when he picked up.

“Stiles, I’m glad you called.” Peter could hear his nephew through the phone, and closed his eyes. Maybe he could pretend it wasn’t morning yet. “Scott’s been up for a few hours, he’s really eager to talk to you.”

“Sure, buddy. We’ll be over in a bit. Did he maul anyone?”

“No, he was fine by the time we got home. How’s Peter?”

“Hm, don’t know. How are you?” Stiles turned to ask Peter himself. He just growled a little in answer. “He’s fine,” Stiles told Derek.

There was silence on the other end of the line. “Are you…” Derek started, but didn’t finish the sentence. “Wow, well, I’m really happy for you both, Stiles.”

“Uh huh,” Stiles answered, the awkwardness becoming palatable. “Well, um, like I said, we’ll be there soon.”

He hung up, and rolled over to face Peter. “Feel up to going to make nice with the local alpha?”

“Maybe. I could be persuaded,” Peter said slowly, stretching out. Stiles smiled.

Three hours later, they arrived back at the pack house. Scott was sitting on the porch swing with Kira, and jumped up when he saw the car coming up the driveway. 

“Hey,” he greeted them as they stepped out, not leaving the porch but standing on the lowest step. “You get lost on the way?”

“Yes,” Stiles smiled back at him, raising a hand to Kira. “How you doing, bud?”

“Way better.” Scott was looking a bit embarrassed, and Stiles stepped aside so he could face Peter. “Hey, Peter. Listen, I need to apologize to you.”

Peter tilted his head a little, showing he was listening. Not exactly agreeing, but definitely not denying it. “I got overwhelmed, and I’m not proud of it,” Scott continued. “The negotiations went badly, then we started fighting and — well, we weren’t doing great. Then, with you suddenly showing up as an alpha, and the full moon on top of that…I wasn’t in total control, and I should have been. I’m sorry for the way I acted towards you.”

Stiles was beaming at his friend, as if he was immensely proud of such a profound apology. Peter suspected he had rehearsed it, as there was something of Derek about it. “Thank you,” he replied, and Scott looked instantly relieved, his usual smile starting to return. “But you’re not the only one at fault. I entered your territory without revealing my status to you, you were within your rights to have a problem with it.”

“Well, from what I understand it’s not exactly my territory,” Scott said. He glanced at Stiles, as if for confirmation. 

Peter stepped in before he could say anything. “Yes, about that. I was unaware that I was causing a problem in that regard. I still have no intention of claiming Beacon Hills as my territory, so feel free to consider it yours.”

Scott smiled, still looking a little apologetic, and stepped forward with a hand out. When they shook on it, Kira piped up, “Oh, did you feel that, Stiles?”

“Yeah,” he looked out into the woods. “The name totally changed on the lease, so to speak.”

“Thank you, Peter,” Scott told him. “Derek — he told me about how you became an alpha, and stuff. I know it’s been a hard road, and you’re totally welcome here, okay? No more power struggles. Even if some of my pack drift over to you, it’s okay. We’re all one big family, really, right?” He grinned, and Peter almost felt inclined to agree with him.

“I appreciate it, really. But I’ve got to head home, I’ve been told that work is piling up in my absence. I’ll have to catch a flight right away.” He could get a ride back to LAX with Cora, probably, since she needed to return to her job soon.

“Oh,” Scott said simply. He looked over at Stiles, surprised, but there was no emotion on the mage’s face. “Right, okay. Well, the offer still stands, if you find yourself back in the neighbourhood.”

Peter went up alone to his room to pack up his things. Cora was ready to leave, having waited for him all morning — very patiently, according to her. But she didn’t give him a hard time when she caught a sniff of Stiles on him, instead looking sympathetic. He had hurried past her, taking out his phone and looking for a flight leaving that evening.

Derek came and stood in the doorway as Peter folded his clothes neatly. “I get why you have to go back,” he said, watching with his arms crossed. “I won’t repeat what you already know, but we’re still pack, even if you’re not here.”

“Your loyalty is touching,” Peter replied, sounding more sarcastic than he intended. “I do mean it. Perhaps you can come visit me, next time.”

Derek eventually disappeared, only to be replaced in the doorway by Stiles just as Peter was zipping his bag shut. “Just wanted to say goodbye,” he said, looking at the suitcase. “Kira and I are packing up too, so. Figured we’d best do this now.”

“Right,” Peter said. He was glad Stiles couldn’t hear his heartbeat, speeding up as he edged onto an unusual feeling — slightly desperate. “We could always stay in touch, you know. The flight isn’t that long.”

“Yeah,” Stiles looked away, “I don’t— Long distance isn’t really my thing. I don’t think I could handle it.”

“Oh.” Peter heard Cora’s car start up outside. 

“Listen, I’m really glad you have a pack now,” Stiles said earnestly. “You’ll be way better off this way, than on your own. I know you’re gonna be a great alpha to them all.”

Peter smiled in return. Stiles didn’t seem to believe it, but he came over and gave him a quick kiss anyway. “Take care of yourself,” he said. 

Stiles disappeared out the door and was gone to some far reach of the house before Peter had even gotten his suitcase out the door. 

“You all set?” Cora asked him as he heaved his bag into the trunk of her car. 

“Seems that way,” he replied.

When she dropped him at the airport, she got out of the car to give him a proper hug. “Multiple hugs in one visit,” he remarked, “you’d almost think you find me tolerable.”

“Barely,” she said, before taking his phone from his hand. “Text me instead of Derek,” she instructed, typing her number in. “He only tells me half the things I want to know sometimes. And maybe, I don’t know. I’ll be done my internship in a few months,” she handed the phone back, “and I could come up to see you. Stay for a bit, maybe.”

Peter looked down at the screen. She had saved her number under the name FAVORITE NIECE. “You’re welcome anytime,” he told her, sliding the phone into his pocket. “The rest of the pack would love to meet you.” 

As she waved him off, he couldn’t help but feel unsettled. His phone buzzed, and he saw a message from Niko. _Feeling sad, chief?_

_Stay out of my feelings,_ he wrote back. 

At the gate, he checked his messages again. There were two.

Niko wrote, _Kinda hard when you keep broadcasting them like this. We’ll have to work on it._

The other one was from an unknown number, and he couldn’t guess the area code. _I hope you’re happy with yourself_ , was all it said. He deleted it without replying. 

 

——————————

 

After two weeks back at work, he had only been out on a single case. He had been lying about work piling up in his absence. It seemed that things had only declined while he was away. 

“These streets just aren’t as mean as they used to be,” Niko said, putting her feet up on Peter’s desk as she sat in a client chair across from him. Her boots dropped dirt, but he ignored it, focusing on proofreading a document before it had to be sent out. 

Viola wandered in, typing away on her phone. “I heard a theory that having a stable pack on a territory influences the number of supernatural criminal events. Think that has anything to do with it?”

“I sincerely doubt it,” Peter said, without looking up. “We’re not a big pack, and this is a huge city.”

“Where’d you read that?” Niko asked her, picking up her coffee cup from the desk. They had gotten an automatic machine while Peter was away, and so they rarely had to do coffee runs anymore. They were in a silent waiting game to see who would admit they missed the pastries first. 

Viola shrugged. “Just something Lydia mentioned to me.”

“Lydia?” Peter’s head snapped up. “You’ve been talking to her?”

“Uh, yeah? She contacted me before you even came home,” Viola looked at him unimpressed, before going back to texting. “You sure you spent time with that pack? Seems like you missed a lot while you were there.”

“He was a little distracted,” Niko winked, always happy for an opportunity to tease Peter. “Stiles kept you busy, eh? How nauseatingly romantic.”

Peter didn’t say anything in reply. He was aware that Niko was staring at him, but didn’t rise to the bait. “Lydia says he’s settling in well,” Viola said instead, carrying on as if nothing had happened. “She’s back at Yale, but I guess they talk a lot. She thinks he misses New York, but doesn’t mind living back in Beacon Hills again — closer to his dad, and everything.”

Peter looked up again. “What are you talking about?”

Viola paused her typing. “You know, because of the nemeton. He had to move back. He told you, right?”

“We…” Peter trailed off, not sure how to put it. “Haven’t kept in touch.”

Niko and Viola exchanged a look. “Well, a new nemeton has to grow in place of the old one,” Viola explained slowly. “And it needs someone to look after it, basically all the time until it starts getting some bark. So he had to move back to California, or else find someone else to raise it.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t know,” Niko shook her head. “Thought I mentioned it, at least. It was a big buzz on the magic forums, him pulling out of New York. There’s gonna be a backlash out there, mark my words. I guess his friend went with him too?” she checked with Viola.

“Kira, yeah. She’s dating Scott, apparently.”

When Peter didn’t press them for any more information, they let the subject drop. They had all gotten better about not sharing unintentional emotion through their pack bonds, but he couldn’t help the bit of sadness that still got through.

 

———————————

 

Two days later, Peter’s door opened, and a stack of paperwork was dropped unceremoniously onto his desk.

“Do you own work,” he snipped, knowing it was Niko. 

“Good news, chief,” she said, pushing the papers forward. “Look.”

He did. “Okay,” he said, staring at the visa forms. 

Niko groaned. “You’re impossible. Viola and I are applying for work visas in California. Guess who’s moving to the States? We are!”

“No we’re not,” Peter frowned at her. He had been working on his computer — well, working wasn’t the right word. He was chatting on Facebook with Cora, who was likewise not working at her job. “Who do you think is going to hire you in California?”

“You are, sweetcheeks. Don’t think we don’t know about all your little side ventures. You’re gonna use one of them as an excuse to hire us poor Canadian labourers, and then we can open up shop down in LA.”

“Vancouver is on a downturn!” came Viola’s voice from out in the hall. “Market’s dried up! Greener pastures!”

“Exactly. This has nothing to do with you, really. I mean, do you know someone in California? What a coincidence. We had no idea. Hilarious. Sign here,” she pointed to a flagged line on the form, and then about ten others. 

Peter stared at her until he realized she was serious. He glanced down at his laptop, and saw Cora was still typing. 

He picked up a pen.

 

————————————

 

Two months later, they were sitting in a mostly-empty office in Los Angeles. The furniture was due to be delivered that afternoon, and until then Peter and Viola were arguing over floorplans. This was after they had a long debate over who got which office. It had ended amicably only after Peter had accepted the office with just one single window, instead of three, like the others. 

“When is the internet getting hooked up?” Niko asked, sitting on the floor with her laptop, but checking her emails on her phone. “I’ve got a lot of replies to send since I sent out word that we were just about set up here. We’re gonna be so busy, I’m already exhausted.”

“Tomorrow, I think,” Peter said, wandering into what would be Niko’s office. The view was better from his, at least. “Cora said she’d be here to meet the installer, she wanted to set up her desk anyways.”

He heard the door open out in the foyer, and Viola greeted someone. “Is the furniture here?” she asked.

“Uh, I don’t know,” came a familiar voice. “I was just looking for…”

Peter stepped out of the office to see Stiles standing in the entrance. He looked unsure whether he should be there or not, shifting from one foot to the other. “Hi, Peter.”

“Hi, Stiles,” he returned. 

Niko audibly gasped, and Peter put his hand over his face. “Oh my god, you’re Stiles?” Both she and Viola rushed him, almost startling him back out the door. The banshee caught him in a hug before he could escape, while Niko looked delightedly between him and Peter.

“It’s so nice to meet you!” Viola said, holding him by the shoulders and looking him up and down. “I didn’t think you’d come so soon, wow. Colour me impressed.”

“Uh, yeah,” Stiles looked back over her shoulder to Peter, silently asking for help. 

Luckily, Niko was quick to catch on. “You’ve got great timing, we were just going out for lunch. Bye!” She shuffled Viola out the door, throwing a thumbs up back over her shoulder to Peter. 

The door closed behind them, leaving Peter and Stiles in silence. “Lydia gave me the address,” Stiles rushed to say, “I guess Viola gave it to her. I didn’t just track you down, I swear I’m not that creepy.”

“Stiles,” Peter said, pausing to try and catch up on the fact that he was standing right there. “It’s fine. More than fine. I’m glad to see you.”

Stiles looked relieved, but Peter could still hear his heart beating fast. He stopped himself from smiling too much at that. “Yeah, me too. I wasn’t really sure that you’d want to see me, though.”

Peter shrugged, looking out around the empty office. “Well, you know. You did tell me you don’t do long distance, after all.”

Stiles’ heart skipped a beat. Peter didn’t suppress his smile this time. Casually, Stiles walked around the office, coming to stand nearby. “This is a nice space,” he remarked, hands in his pockets. “You know, I’m a semi-recently out of work vigilante supernatural crimefighter, who spends one day a week babysitting and warding a sapling.”

“You don’t say.” Peter turned to him, daring to reach out a hand. Stiles leaned into it when he caressed his face. “What a coincidence, that’s exactly the kind of work we do here. The vigilante part, that is, not the tree part.”

“How interesting,” Stiles said, stepping closer. He wound his arms around Peter’s neck, looking incredibly pleased. “Perhaps some sort of partnership is in order.”

Peter kissed him first. Somewhere within him he felt that tiny bond they once had jump back to life — he had thought it had disappeared entirely. 

“So,” Stiles said, grinning and breathless after a few minutes, “you wanna show me which one of these offices is yours? I’ll show you a magic trick, in exchange.” 

“Oh?” Peter asked, taking his hand and leading him over. “It better be a good one.”

“I think you’ll like it,” Stiles assured him. “I’ll show you how I can lock a door from over ten feet away while not wearing pants.”

When Niko and Viola came back to the office with four sandwiches and smoothies between them, they found the front door unable to open, even when Niko used a little spell on it. They sat outside and ate two lunches each, just out of delighted spite. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I'm a little sad this story is over, I like the universe a lot. Imagining what sorts of things could happen next is very tempting...but I don't know, maybe it's better to leave it here?
> 
> I appreciate all the support I've received so much, especially since this was my first fic in probably 10 years. I love the Steter community so much! If there's any typos you spot, let me know, I can be a sloppy proofreader.
> 
> Come say hi on tumblr if you want! I'm [oriolevent](http://oriolevent.tumblr.com/) over there too!


End file.
